


The Run and Go

by Numanum



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Attempted Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault, Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Doing my best here, Don't worry, Dream makes a friend, Dream- "nope", Dream- "that's not me", George- "it's not?", Getting trapped with your glorified babysitters is a mood, Hallucinations, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Minecraft, Near Death Experiences, Sexual Assault, Social Anxiety, Starvation, There's legit p l o t, They take Dream without his consent but he's fine, he's fine eventually, he's okay, it's Minecraft Manhunt with plot you guys!!!, it's funny I promise, kind of???, okay, they're all okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 82,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Numanum/pseuds/Numanum
Summary: “That’s not fair,” Bad protests. Dream raises an eyebrow at him and jerks his tied hands in emphasis, clearly saying that none of this is fair.“Look, you keep running! Who runs if they’re not guilty?” Bad challenges, staring him down with obvious distrust from the generous distance of exactly five feet. It’s fair, as much as Dream hates to admit it; it’s not like he’s been the most honest hostage in the past, with all of his escaping and running and framing himself for his own murder, apparently.“Only the good die young, and only the guilty run,” Technoblade chimes in, holding his own potato and sitting in the snow like it’s not cold at all.A hot flash of irritation burns through him.“Someone being chased?” he counters sarcastically, jerking his tied wrists up again to wave them in front of the group. Sapnap laughs so hard that he almost chokes on his potato, but it dies off when Dream gives him an icy stare.Or: Dream is having a hard time, and the hunter just want to adopt him like a stray puppy that bites you at every opportunity.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & BadBoyHalo, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team - Relationship
Comments: 1593
Kudos: 3957





	1. Kind of Lost, Definitely in Danger

**Author's Note:**

> First work in this fandom! If any of the Dream Team or BadBoyHalo asks people to not write about them, I'll take this down immediately. Right now, I'm just gonna have some fun with it! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Dream’s been called into the office- which is less of an office and more of an interrogation room- and if he goes off of the whispers that follow him, he’s in some pretty deep shit. His hands, hidden in the long sleeves of his clothes, clench in and out of fists to keep from shaking. There’s a lot he could have done to put himself here; just last week he'd started a food fight and died some sheep pink so that the priests sacrificed absolutely normal sheep and got bad luck, the works. But all of them were pretty harmless, even the priest thing. In all cases of actual harm, he's innocent. His robes, a blinding white that reflect the innocence of everyone in The Dream, don’t make a sound as he moves down the hall. Even if his face is covered by his drooping hood, everyone knows who he is by now. He’s the only one with robes enchanted to be silent, and it makes his presence louder in an ironic sort of way. He'd even done it to himself, all for the sake of not getting caught while causing trouble. Now, he was automatically blamed for things he didn't do; if no one saw who did it, it must have been him. To be fair, it usually was; he was the newest addition to The Dream, so he got away with more than he really should- not that he was complaining. But there was something sharp and dangerous in the air, and it bounced off of the skin of every Dreamer in the building and reflected back onto him. His hair stood on end at the feeling; it was something like electricity.

The feeling right before someone get's struck by lightning.

Half expecting the doorknob to zap him, Dream hesitantly sets his hand on it and breathes when nothing happens. A sick feeling is trying to worm it's way through his gut, but he shoves it down and turns the knob. He steps inside, shuts the door behind him, and meets his kind-of-a-boss’s eyes, seeing the conversation that they’re about to have without even having it. She remains quiet, also seeing it. Surely she knows what it's about if she's calling the meeting, Dream muses as he forms a shallow connection with her. Not having it, she forces it deeper, ignoring his slight wince. With the connection forged stronger, Dream is thrown into the near future.

_“You will do this-”_

_“I will_ not _,” Dream counters with a quiet scoff, now feeling more shock than his earlier fear. She can't ask him to do this; he's relatively new, and he doesn't even want to be here anyway. It's the look in her eyes that unnerves him, a sympathy so distant that it's not even there. “Like hell I’m killing myself because you want to keep the peace with someone who thinks I’m a witch.”_

_“You are a witch.”_

_“But where’s the proof of it?”_

_“They claim you bewitched him,” Dream goes to cut her off, but she continues anyway. “You bewitched a married man, Dream.”_

_“A married man threw me against a wall and it’s_ my _fault-”_

_She raises her hand and he obediently falls into a seething silence. His teeth are grit so hard that his jaw aches, but luckily his expression is hidden behind the drooping shadows of his hood. He doesn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing him scared, of seeing him as anything other than angry._

_“You’ll do it, or I’ll do it for you.”_

_Yeah right, she’ll just get someone else to do it for her. And he's so angry, all of a sudden, that he's even here. Some guest assaulted him and he has to die for it, despite the many witnesses that had pulled the man off of him. How typical of The Dream, he thinks bitterly, to simply bleach out any spot on their pristinely white reputation. Older Dreams bleed red; they have a use, and their loss would stain The Dream's very way of life._

_As someone relatively new, and so dirty by their standards that he's surprised that they even bothered taking him, Dream bleeds white._

_“Who’s gonna hunt someone like me?” Dream questions tensely, gesturing to his clothes that mark him as a good witch person who doesn’t kill anyone. The woman smiles at him like he's a stupid child who's missing the big picture. It's the same look he got from her when they first met, as she'd grabbed him and forced a bond to get him to shut up._

_“Someone who thinks you’re a Dream Snatcher.”_

_She finally stands from her chair, walking to his side and leaning down to look at him. Dream resolutely keeps his eyes ahead._

_“You will wear this,” she offers him a mask that looks nothing like a Dream Snatcher’s. Not that anyone in the general public actually knows what one looks like. Dream is pretty fucked right now. “And you will be hunted until they slay you like knights slay the dragon, just like in those books that you care so much for. You will run until you can run no longer, and then you will die.”_

_They aren’t in any of his books, Dream doesn’t have time for pleasure reading, but the threat is still there._

Dream blinks harshly, forcefully ejecting himself from the future, and stares at the woman across from him as he jerks his hood back over his eyes. She just nods once, a smile growing on the part of her face that he can see. And isn't that just typical- this is a lesson, a test, and a revenge plot all in one; it's no secret that she dislikes him, that he's basically here on a scholarship that came from being in the wrong place at the wrong time and accidentally connecting with her. It's all in the past now, though, and Dream has bigger things to worry about.

Not thinking twice, he turns tail and rushes away as unsuspiciously as possible. All it takes is one glance to see that, while nobody is stopping him, they all know what’s going to happen. And no one is going to help him, either.

All of the exits, as usual, are locked tightly with enchantments that he can't get through in time. Not for the first time, Dream kind of wishes that the windows actually led outside.

* * *

His attempts to leave are unsuccessful, and the mask is plastered to his face despite his thrashing. No one questions what it’s for.

* * *

A few hours later, Dream is running as fast as he can, an enchanted mask stuck to his face even as his fingers scrabble at it uselessly. It’s an ugly thing, a white circle with an unbothered smile, and it paints a huge target on his back.

No one wears a mask unless they have something to hide, and he only has five days before someone is sent into the nearest town to alert hunters of a new bounty.

* * *

Dream shoots up, gasping for breath as his hands move mindlessly to yank at the edges of his mask. It’s still stuck to his face, leaving everything below his nose uncovered. Probably so he can’t starve to death, the sadistic bitch wouldn’t want him to die without properly paying for his 'disobedience'. He slowly reclines again, listening to the night sounds around him while he tries to find the will to get up and move at this hour. He needs to leave early, and the moon is in the process of setting even if it hasn’t dipped out of the sky yet. Dream sighs and slowly prepares everything he’ll need, making the disgusting no-bake bread and checking that he has his boots. The sun isn’t even in the sky when Dream finally shoves everything into his pack and jumps from the tree, using branches to slow his fall and nearly rolling his ankle when he lands harshly on the wet grass. His hands shoot out to catch him, skidding in the wet grass and slight mud on the ground. He grimaces at the smears it leaves on his palms, but forces himself to move on from his near-faceplant. Straightening up, he winces a bit; day three of sleeping in trees is taking its toll on him, he can feel it. Still, it’s not like he’s got any other options right now. 

Not with his face being plastered across every wanted poster in this part of the world by tomorrow.

It’s fine, really, Dream’s got it handled. Just don’t spend too long in any villages and avoid anything that’s not the general wilderness like the plague. Kill what he can and run from what he can’t. Sleep in fucking trees. Avoid eye contact, which isn’t hard now that no one can see his fucking eyes. Obviously, he could be handling it better, but it’s _fine_. Nothing he can really do about it except turn himself in for something he’s not even sure he did. A married man propositioned him, Dream said 'no, thank you', then the man screamed witch. That’s it. What they could have put on his wanted poster other than Dream Snatcher, he has no idea. Most hunters won’t even know what that is, but that’s the thing: they don’t have to know, or even care. Because there’s a bounty, and they want money.

A horde of undead groan loudly near him. Picking up his pace, Dream keeps his eyes peeled for the monsters who burn in the sun. And the ones who don’t; honestly, those ones suck even more because they don’t burn. Hunters don’t burn either, he’s pretty sure. Unless someone has flint and steel or a lava bucket or something.

This manhunt is really just because he told someone important no, but that’s just a small detail. Especially when someone else probably told everyone that he was going to kill the end dragon and kill everyone with the power he’ll get from it. And that he tried to seduce someone and then ate their children. Like a proper Dream Snatcher aspires to do. And at first it’s laughable; Dream, killing something that’s from fairy tales and lore and ruling the world and _eating children._ It all just sounds so weird.

(Even when he starts having the dreams where the sky is so full of stars that it looks like glittering powder, where the ground is made of a stone he’s never seen before, and where towers of obsidian touch the endless sky.)

But then, he starts seeing End People, the _actual_ Dream Snatchers. The only thing Dream has in common with them is the dealing with dreams thing and the wide mouth on his mask. But nobody _else_ is going to know that. It’s not exactly a closely guarded secret that End People are Dream Snatchers, but no one calls them that. People just learned not to look them in the eye and that was that. For Dream, it’s not as simple. Because he deals in dreams and he's not protected by The Dream anymore, it means that they’re really here, and they’re always around now. Watching. Waiting. Like he’s either going to become one of them or they’re going to kill him for daring to be compared to them. They’re prideful creatures, after all, and having someone that’s only slightly more than human be called their name could be pretty offensive. Their reaction to being offended? Usually murder.

So, avoiding villages is a given when you’re a wanted man surrounded by shadows with glowing purple eyes and oil-slick skin. The End People don’t really like crowds and short ceilings, so he should- theoretically- be okay in a village. And it’s not like the villagers particularly care about wanted posters that don’t even tell you what someone did; it’s all pretty shady to be honest, and everyone knows it. The price for bringing him in, on the other hand, is going to get him caught. 

Dream huffs as he passes a distant village, eyeing up the hay bales that he knows he could get if he wasn’t practically haunted by man and monster alike. And if it didn’t make the whole wanted thing feel all too real; stealing before anyone else is awake just doesn’t sit right. Not that he condones stealing in general, but-

Food is a lot harder to come by when you have your own personal murder-paparazzi.

Shaking his head, Dream turns away from the distant lights, instead choosing to turn his face to the sky. The sun is just starting to show itself, turning the sky a beautiful mix of orange and pink. As pretty as it is, it’s not enough to burn the monsters that are still out. It’s almost sad that that’s what everything has come down to; does it help him survive, or is it useless?

It’s kind of lonely, but it’s not like he had much going on pre-wanted man period.

* * *

Whatever God that was listening in when he complained about being lonely must be fucking _cackling_ right now. Positively pissing themselves. Dream hopes that they fall out of the sky and chip a tooth.

Because now, he’s being chased by hunters who either haven’t heard that he’s supposed to be dangerous, or just have that much confidence in their abilities to maim him and make him bleed out or something without getting themselves killed.

Or, Dream reflects as one shoots an arrow that narrowly misses his face, they just don’t care.

He’d been fishing, today had been a productive self care get-food-and-run-tomorrow day. Dream was going to finally eat something other than bread, and he was going to spend the day alone in a quiet solitude, maybe sing a bit and pet a chicken or something to de-stress. Like scream at the sky. But then he’d heard the shouting, and the clanking of metal armor, and had the slowest ‘oh shit’ moment in his life. The general rule of thumb for him before all of this had been to look around for the threat that the hunters were after and get out of the way. Now that he’s technically considered a threat, it’s not a great idea to waste time looking for what they’re chasing- even if his bounty was supposed to have one more day before being posted.

(A weird thing to rely on, but The Dream always worked by fives; a number that supposedly represents change. How ironic, that this time it meant changing his life expectancy to four days.)

So now he’s running through a cover-less area, the grass not even tall enough to reach his knees, and just hoping to whatever God is up there that nothing actually hits him because he’ll likely never recover from it with how low his food supply is. He’s outnumbered, and while he knows a lot about how to survive in any given scenario, he severely doubts that it’s going to help him now. Hunters are usually pretty good at their job.

“Oh _Dreammmm!”_

Yeah, they’re after him. Great. Fan- _fucking_ -tastic. Just what he needed.

“Get him! _Get him!”_

Dream makes a sharp left, throwing himself over a narrow river and sprinting for the trees in the distance. Not for the first time, he’s stupidly thankful that they took his white robes away and replaced them with a green sort of jacket and durable dark pants. There’s no way that he would have been able to run away nearly as fast; though, if he was wearing holy clothes, he probably wouldn’t have been chased at all. He can hear the hunters behind him, most of them not making the jump and splashing around in the water behind him. He doesn’t slow or turn around to look, and it’s only when he can’t hear them anymore that he scales a tree and hunkers down to shove some bread into his panting mouth. Holy shit, these guys had come out of nowhere. One second he’s been sitting there, and the next the hunters had come crashing through the sugarcane like bulls in a china shop.

Knowing better than to count on his luck, Dream doesn’t let himself relax even a little bit as he hides in a tree like a squirrel.

And sure enough, only a few minutes later the hunters are under his tree, somehow finding him with pinpoint accuracy despite all of his random turns and having lost sight of him for a while. Cursing his luck but thanking his lack of faith in it, Dream peers down at the hunters, who are huddled in a tight circle and staring down at something in each of their hands. They break apart, pacing around under him and scaring away every animal within a mile. They’re all holding something small that glints in the sun. Somehow, Dream doubts that it’s something that will help him get out of this alive. They’re bickering, and they’re loud, but it just hides Dream’s erratic breathing from them so it’s probably for the best. Eventually, one of them comes under his tree and starts picking a few cornflowers, giving him the perfect view of what they were all hovering over. Despite the perfect view, Dream can’t tear his eyes away from the hunter picking flowers, because _what_ -

They’re in the middle of a manhunt, who the hell picks flowers in a _manhunt?_

Dream snaps his eyes away to finally see what the hunters are holding, and there it is; a compass that shimmers with purple dust. Dream is going to get caught because of a piece of glass with some _redstone_ and a fancy enchantment.

Feeling the need to scream in frustration, Dream sets his head against the branch in front of him and breathes out very slowly. It doesn’t help. The slight thump sounds impossibly loud to him, but the hunter under him doesn’t even twitch.

“No one climbs trees anymore, Bad!”

Wrong, but a good conclusion for them to come to if it means Dream won’t be found.

“Maybe he dug down?” another one suggests, looking around in confusion like Dream is just going to pop into existence somewhere. The branch he’s clinging to creaks slightly under his weight, and Dream quickly moves closer to the trunk to avoid falling right into their circle of confusion and flowers and fucking _enchanted_ _compasses_.

“Maybe he already portaled,” the hunter picking the cornflowers suggests, not straying from his task. Dream flicks his eyes around the group again, noting that none of them look very serious. Especially whoever is under his hiding spot.

“We were right behind him,” the one with the headband says, sounding more confused than anything else. There’s no way that he actually thinks Dream had time to make a portal; those things are too loud not to notice, and he doesn’t have the materials to do it anyway.

The idea that they think he could manage that is flattering, but wrong. Unless they actually think he's an End Person; those things can teleport. Dream speaks from personal experience when he says that there are few things more terrifying than being rushed at by a nine-foot tall monster with an unhinged jaw that teleports.

(The first time it had happened, he’d roughly scrubbed at the purple dust left on his hands. His sword had broken two hits in, probably due to his frantic uncoordinated swinging that hit a rock before it hit his target. His hands, covered in the dust and his own blood, shook harshly as he slowly reached over and plucked the orb from the ground.

He kept it; he’s kept every single one.)

The one who keeps trying to have a plan presses a hand to his face and looks up as he rolls his eyes-

And Dream sees the second that the hooded hunter notices him in the tree.

He shifts back slightly, preparing to jump if he has to, and an apple falls and narrowly misses the cornflower hunter, who’s head jerks up in confusion that turns into surprise and slight fear. What the guy in full armor with a sword has to fear from him, Dream has no idea. Makes him wonder what’s on his wanted poster, what people think he’s done. The third hunter, realizing how quiet his group is, turns and also sees Dream hiding in the tree and pauses. No one moves for a moment. The one under him slowly pulls out a piece of paper and holds it up, obviously comparing Dream’s masked face to the wanted poster, and shrieks. _Loudly_.

“It’s him!” he yells, almost tripping over the apple as he scurries out from under Dream like he might drop an anvil on him.

“Obviously, Muffinhead!”

“He tried to kill me with an apple!” the hunter complains, his volume not going down at _all_. The other two hunters turn to look at him with very unimpressed faces that Dream can feel himself mirroring.

“How would he _kill_ _you_ with an _apple?”_

“I mean, I probably could, but it’d be hard?” Dream offers from his perch above them. The group turns back to him slowly as they register what could technically be a threat. If you were incredibly paranoid and allergic to apples. Their hands are resting on their swords, and that alone is enough to have Dream shifting uncomfortably.

“Right, come on down and we won’t hurt you,” the one that had narrowly avoided death-by-apple tries.

“Yeah, no, actually. I’m good.”

The next few seconds are filled with confusion as Dream flings himself to another tree, and another one after that. The hunters stick to the ground, but they never lag too far behind him. None of them are checking their compasses, relying solely on whatever brief glimpses of Dream that they can get. It’s an odd way to hunt someone, Dream thinks; why not just use the object that’s supposed to lead you right to your game? Not that these hunters seem all that bright. They're not stupid, no hunter is, but they just don't seem to be as thoughtful as Dream knows hunters to be. That's something that he can use against them, actually. Thinking fast, Dream pulls out a few stones and tosses them into a tree to his right, making the branches shake slightly. The hunters immediately flock to the tree and start shouting even louder, calling for him to ‘make it easy’ and ‘give them a break’. The second he’s sure that they’re not following him, Dream backtracks quietly, only going as fast as he dares. He's breathing hard again, but trying his best not to.

Distantly, he hears the sound of the tree being chopped down, and the yells of frustration when they find he’s not there. A wheezing laugh escapes him at the sound.

He hits the ground running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I love comments and suggestions, or even just to hear how you're doing! <3


	2. Best Friends would Kill For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you ever eaten a child?” the one with the torch- Headband- suddenly asks, interrupting his slow escape and making Dream blink harshly in confusion and count to ten before he can calm his panic enough to actually answer.
> 
> “Not that I know of,” he replies slowly. Headband nods his head, like this proves something, before looking pointedly over at the other awake hunter at his side, who stubbornly doesn't look at him. Headband throws an elbow into the side of Hood's armor and then gestures over to Dream with a weird face and raised eyebrows. Hood- who's loosely holding an iron pickax that could some serious damage to Dream's person- looks over and actually pauses at the sight of him before sighing gloomily and throwing his hands up in disbelief at whatever silent message Headband is giving him.
> 
> “You get this one free pass,” he mutters, before painting a finger at Dream sternly. “But after tonight we’re hunting you down again.”
> 
> Dream is destroying those compasses the first chance that he gets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MILD GORE WARNING!!!!!! Not very graphic, but still! <3

It’s not even three hours later when the hunters pop back up again, swords waving and voices carrying in the wind. Dream’s not quite sure what they’re hoping to accomplish by destroying any hope of stealth, but he’s almost grateful that they’re so _bad_ at their job; he can always hear them, and it makes avoiding them a lot easier. If he couldn’t hear them, he’d be fucked. Nor because they're extremely capable and he's scared of their hidden skills or anything, but because they do have an advantage over him. What they lack in technique, they make up for in number. If they could get their shit together, Dream has no doubt that they'd have him with his back to a wall. Right now, he's thinking that maybe they just have to share two brain cells between the three of them and that’s why they stick together. Who knows, really.

“Dream, I’m baking potatoes,” one of them calls into the cave that they seem to think he’s gone into. It echoes slightly, and Dream has to catch his wheezing laughs in his gloved palm so he doesn't give away his position in a tree almost directly above their camp. The hunters had only briefly considered that he might be up here before taking a look at the height and deciding not to bother with searching. After that, they'd spotted the cave and hyper-fixated on it so loudly that Dream had thought it was actually a trick to make him think they didn't know where he was. Then they'd built a wall around the cave, and he'd relaxed. These hunters probably couldn't lie to save their lives, he notes as he watches them from above. And sure enough, true to his word, the hunter is actually baking potatoes on the campfire. Dream carefully clenches his fingers around some sturdy enough vines and leans out on the branch under him to watch them better and listen in.

“You know,” Headband considers slowly, “he’s not as… scary as I thought he’d be. You know, for someone who ate a child and took over a village before causing mass genocide.”

They can’t be serious, Dream thinks hysterically as he nearly lets go of the vines in surprise. Mass genocide. And he also, apparently, ate a child. Knowing beforehand that The Dream was going to fudge the truth and actually finding out what they claim he did are two very different things.

“He tried to kill me with an apple,” one hunter complains, like that proves Dream capable of mass murder. He's sitting on a table and kicking his feet while he talks animatedly, like a kid. There's no way that he's over eighteen; the hunters are getting younger and younger, and also fewer and fewer in number as the general age drops. It's not something that Dream thought he'd ever have to think too hard about. The one next to him, who's sharpening his sword shakes his head as the one who'd tried to tempt Dream with potatoes comes back to their camp. Goggles and Headband, Dream decides as he watches them, and Hood. Just to keep it clearer.

“He totally did not. Did you not see his face? It was so _awkward_ , man.”

“There’s not much of a face to see,” the Hood huffs, shooing the hunter off of the bench and setting the potatoes down. He shakes his hands out afterwards, and it never actually occurred to Dream that the food was hot; Hood had been holding hot food out for more than a few minutes, scalding the shit out of his hands, just to get Dream out of a cave that he wasn't in to begin with. Holding in a wince of sympathy, Dream listens back in. His eyes trace the setting sun lazily, watching the sky turn as the hunters keep talking.

“Maybe that’s just what Dream Snatchers look like?”

Dream watches purple eyes blink in and out of existence at the treeline behind the hunters, and he very carefully does not look them in the eye. His hands itch to cover the mouths of the hunters, who are really just causing more problems for everyone by calling the End People by name and comparing Dream to them. Hopefully, they can't climb trees.

“Maybe he’s not so bad-” Headband starts with a mild shrug as he watches the treeline. Hood is immediately on his case, despite his attention being on the potatoes that he's trying not to poke into the flames.

“Sapnap, he ate a child-”

Dream ignores the rest of what Hood says as he moves back into his tree, having heard enough for now. If he’s careful and if the hunters are… themselves, he should be able to get out tonight and run. Maybe even steal a few baked potatoes; they'd been offered- not in good faith, but whatever. Or maybe appeal to the one who doesn’t think he ate a child, have a conversation and come to an agreement that doesn’t end with Dream being dismembered- as is the custom way to deal with Snatchers. A compromise; Dream leaves and they can go back to whatever they were doing before they came after him. He settles down into the branches and watches the hunters go about setting up beds in camp and preparing for the next day. They check their compasses a few times, some more nervous than others. Armor is abandoned in shiny metal piles next to beds, and Dream leans back into a convenient nest of branches in his tree and keeps an eye on them until they stop making noise.

Only a few minutes later- Dream is almost asleep- the ever restless Hood and a very tired looking Headband are saying that they'll be back and heading towards the cave system that they think he's in. It's a clever tactic, hitting him when they think he's asleep, but the clanking of their armor would give them away if he was there. Or maybe not, Dream is a pretty heavy sleeper when he's been up for too long. Goggles hastily pulls on his armor, seeming less secure as he watches his friends (and with the way they bicker and support each other, there's no way they aren't friends- even if there's no room for friendship in the hunter's code) walk away. He sticks close to the fire, waving back at them as they descend into the hole.

Dream was right, he can hear their armor against the stone from his spot in the tree.

Eventually, Goggles is alone, and he sees his chance. It's not the hunter who's doubting his gult, but it's not the one who's the most determined to catch him and that's all he can really ask for. Keeping an eye and ear out for the other two, Dream spills water down the trunk to slide down faster, being sure to keep himself silent as he descends. The vines that cover the tree are decent enough handholds, especially with his gloves to take the brunt of any burn from their rough texture. The sun is just beginning to set, and monsters will be out soon. Really, the other two hunters shouldn’t have left this one alone. Alone, and right next to a very deep crack in the earth that has God knows what in it. It would be so easy, Dream muses to himself as he creeps closer on near-silent feet. It would be so easy to push him in, to have one less hunter chasing after him. His anxious hands slowly unclench from his sides as he continues to hesitantly stalk closer, almost close enough to touch. Not that he will; the armor could be enchanted with something, and he has no reason to touch him anyway. As much as he hates to say it, he would feel bad for killing someone so young, especially because Hood and Headband seem to really care for their friend. Even though he's being hunted by them, and they've shot as him, they're the most human interaction he's had in nearly a week and- aside from the whole hunting him thing- they seem like good people. Dream is just here to talk this time. He can hear the hunter mumbling to himself with a ridiculous accent that Dream is nearly certain is permanent. He opens his own mouth, preparing to give possibly the most awkward greeting of ‘hey there, don’t kill me yet, hear me out’ in his life, but stops short. After a few nights of running from monsters, his brain is wired to notice any and every little thing.

That being said, Dream hears the skeleton before he sees it.

By the time that the soft knocking of bones turns into the sharp twang of an arrow being released, he’s already abandoned any sense of subtlety and not-touching and lunged for the hunter to knock him out of the way. The hunter- who screams out of surprise on impact, and whose flailing causes them to roll closer to the ravine than Dream would like, but they’re fine- doesn't spot the skeleton at all, too busy freaking out about the brief glimpse he'd gotten of Dream's mask. Too busy trying not to die, Dream pays him no mind as he leans in the direction that Goggles had been only seconds ago, and finds exactly what he's looking for in the tall grass. He snatches the arrow, nearly snapping the shaft of it due to the weird angle and the tip being buried in the ground. Distantly, he can hear rushing water, probably at the bottom of the ravine. The hunter is still freaking out, this time about being so close to the edge that _he rolled them to._

“He’s here! Sapnap, Bad, he’s here and he's going to _kill_ me!”

Not bothering with trying to comfort him, Dream shushes him harshly and slaps a hand over his mouth. They already have a skeleton, they don’t need more monsters on them.

“No one except me and the monsters can hear you scream, so _stop_ ,” Dream hisses, sitting up on the hunters back to keep an eye on the skeleton and prevent the hunter from rolling them both over the edge. Small whimpers come from under him, and he dully realizes that that might sound like a threat, which is not what he's trying to do right now. Panicking a bit at how awkward and dangerous everything has gotten in only a few seconds, he tries to correct himself.

“No, I mean-”

Bones rattle again, stealing his attention. The skeleton is reloading, watching them with empty eye sockets as it begins to pull its bow up to take aim. There’s no time to get up, and there’s nothing to block the next shot with, so Dream drops onto the hunters back, clings to him like a leech, and rolls to the right.

The hunter screams the entire way down to the rushing water.

They hit the water with a splash, Dream on the bottom and getting the full weight of another human being and a full set of metal armor pressing him down. He’s only a little relieved to note that it’s not enchanted with the stupid thorn magic, even though Goggles hadn't actually taken any damage. Sometimes, if the magic was strong enough, it could hurt to even touch the armor if you had bad intentions. Like throwing the wearer off of the edge of a ravine, for example. Not getting slapped with pain by a hunk of metal was great, but not being in this mess would be even better. The water isn’t deep enough for him to not slam into the ground, but it’s enough to prevent him from breaking anything; something's probably cracked, but it doesn't hurt too badly. With the way things are going right now, he’ll take it. 

The hunter has gone silent in Dream's arms, and is a dead weight while he tries his best to get both of them out of the rushing current. The water is cold enough that Dream can feel his fingers and legs going numb, making it even harder to haul himself and the hunter out. Dream is tall- not End People tall, but tall-, but he's lanky. Strong for his build, but not strong enough to just throw someone in full armor over his shoulder and carry them out of the sucking current. He tries his best. Slowly, numb feet slipping against every bit of moss and stepping on every jagged rock, he manages to get them both to the edge of the river enough to bodily throw the hunter out of the water. It's less of a throw and more of a weak shove, but he manages it. Dream crawls out next to him and forces himself to his feet, looking around their surroundings for a way out. A few moments later, he sighs and slumps slightly; unless he wants to either A: abandon the hunter and hope he doesn't get eaten or something, or B: drag the hunter through the caves that he can see and just hope that one leads to the surface, there's not a lot that he can do aside from stand helplessly and hope that Goggles didn't swallow too much water. The choice that he gets is a horde of undead, who notice him and the sack-of-potatoes hunter and decide with their rotting brains that they’re a convenient enough snack. None of them are fast, but Dream is numb from the neck down and weaponless aside from the arrow that the skeleton had narrowly missed them with. Picking it up and standing between the undead and the hunter behind him, Dream gets ready.

The first undead breaks off from the pack, shambling closer and gnashing it’s teeth at him. All it takes is a few stabs through its yellow eyes before it falls to the ground in a heap, already rotting body quickly beginning to turn to dust. The horde, having no care in the world for the dust at Dream’s feet, advance in one large mass of grabbing hands and rotting meat. Dream does his best; ducking and weaving and sliding and stabbing until the shaft of the arrow is so covered in gore that it's so slick he can hardly hold it. Undead blood is tacky, always half clotted, and his hand and the arrow in it are so covered that it looks like he’d tried to dye the thing black without gloves on. Still, he keeps going. Even when the arrow snaps in half, he just uses both pieces as shorter weapons. Nails scrape at his neck and hands pull at him from almost all sides, but he hold his ground.

Finally, when the last zombie has turned to dust, he sees the hunter move slightly. A huge sense of relief hits him; up until now, Dream hadn’t even been sure that the hunter had been breathing. He hadn’t really had time to check.

Dream crouches next to the hunter, pulls his armor off, and rolls him onto his side before taking great joy in thumping his back as hard as possible as a sort of revenge for this mess. The hunter coughs twice before he lets out any water, and even then it’s a small amount. Dream, pretty sure that he’s not going to drown, only thumps him three more times before straightening up. When he checks the moon, only about an hour has passed since he decided to approach the hunter.

Fuck that, he’s not doing it again if this is where it gets him. He's rather be chased by three people with two brain cells between them than be in the bottom of a ravine, soaked to the bone and a snack of choice for some undead.

A low groan makes his hair stand on end, and he whips around just in time to not get his neck gnawed on by rotting teeth.

“Holy shit,” Dream hisses, punching the thing on instinct and scurrying backwards while trying to calm his racing heart. The undead only groans again, and it’s echoed by others which shouldn’t be possible-

Unless there’s a monster cage calling them somewhere nearby. With how this night is going, he wouldn't exactly be surprised.

His eyes flick along the walls of the ravine, searching-

There- only twenty feet away- is the mossy stone that usually comes with monster cages. It's no wonder that he had to fight so many; they're being called to almost his exact location.

Hands reach for him again and Dream swirls around, shoves his fingers through the monster’s eyes on instinct, and kicks it away from him while trying his best not to gag at the yellowish goo on his hand. Finger-less gloves had been a bad idea. Still, he has more important things to do, like destroy a monster cage before it calls enough to get him killed. As long as he's going towards the fight, Dream thinks as he stares down at the hunter, Goggles should be perfectly fine. He doesn't want to leave the guy behind, especially next to water because with their combined luck there's going to be drowned nearby, but he doesn't have much of a choice right now. Just in case, he takes the iron helmet with him. Clenching his jaw, Dream sends one last look at the hunter on the ground before he creeps away. Hopefully, him being covered in undead blood will disguise his scent, but it probably won’t. Peeking his head around the edge of the room, Dream scans it for anything that’s going to kill him and finds only a few undead, who begin shambling his way immediately. This time, he doesn’t have a weapon with him other than an iron hat, and undead aren’t really weak enough to die from him just smashing them repeatedly with a hollow piece of iron. Looking down at his ungloved fingers and feeling a huge sense of disgust, Dream knows what he has to do.

By the time that he’s done shoving his fingers through eyes, Dream is promising himself to never do it again. He briefly thinks of it and gags, needing to brace himself against the cold stone wall for a second. Deep breath through his nose sends him back to the wall, and the next time he straightens up, he only breathes through his mouth; it’s not much better, and it almost feels like he can taste the death in the air, but it’s worlds better than smelling it. As he pries himself from the wall and makes himself approach the monster cage, his fingers grip the helmet in their grip so hard that he bends it slightly. Numb, bloody hands sliding slightly on the still wet metal, Dream brings it over his head and slams it down with all his might, again and again and again, until the monster cage is reduced to scrap metal and the dying traces of magic. 

Abandoning the treasure in the room in favor of getting the fuck _out of it,_ he hurries back out to the hunter. All it takes is one look at the helmet for someone to realize that it’s more likely to fit a very lumpy llama than it is to fit a human.

After a brief moment of consideration, Dream tosses it into the water and watches it sink like a stone.

"Oh, no," he mutters sarcastically.

More bones rattle from somewhere nearby, and he retreats back to the hunter.

* * *

Dream uses the new skeleton’s arrow to fight any monsters off just like he did with the last one, driving it through red eyes and into rotting brains until the arrow becomes too slick for him to use. There are, in fact, drowned in the water that they'd landed in. The few times that Dream has had the time to check in on him, Goggles has been breathing. is still breathing hard but still out cold, so Dream feels a little better about turning his back to him to fight off what has to be every mob within a mile radius. Eventually, his shitty arrow is upgraded to a trident, which is pretty nice; Dream no longer has to get close to a monster to kill it, and he's taking less damage because of it.

By the time that he’s done, he’s covered in undead blood and bone dust and stick spider string, and also _still_ soaking wet from his impromptu river bath.

Of course, this is when the others happen to figure out that the cave system they thought he was in earlier leads to a ravine. When Dream first sees the torchlight, his first reaction in sharp relief and a few glances down at Goggles, who still hasn't woken up but he's taken to weird sleep mumbles so Dream is pretty sure he'll be okay. When he hears the voice of Headband and the shooshes of Hood, the relief is replaced by so much anxiety that Dream feels like he's choking a little bit. He'd planned on just talking to Goggles, but now he's stuck down here with all three hunters but one is out cold, and now that the others are back he's _very_ aware that it looks like he just murdered their best friend. At least the others are on the opposite side of the river from Dream.

Their eyes flick from a bloody Dream with a trident to an unconscious George to all of the slowly-turning-to-dust bodies surrounding them on the other side of the bank. He very carefully takes a few steps away from Goggles, trying his best to not look suspicious despite being covered in gore. In his haste to distance himself, he trips over a drowned soggy corpse nearly eats shit on the slick stone floor. Goggles shuffles and mumbles some more, which they somehow hear over the gurgling of the river. Hood and Headband visibly relax.

"He's fine," Dream offers after a moment as he slowly edges further away.

“Have you ever eaten a child?” the one with the torch- Headband- suddenly asks, interrupting his slow escape and making Dream blink harshly in confusion and count to ten before he can calm his panic enough to actually answer.

“Not that I know of,” he replies slowly. Headband nods his head, like this proves something, before looking pointedly over at the other awake hunter at his side, who stubbornly doesn't look at him. Headband throws an elbow into the side of Hood's armor and then gestures over to Dream with a weird face and raised eyebrows. Hood- who's loosely holding an iron pickaxe that could do some serious damage to Dream's person- looks over and actually pauses at the sight of him before sighing gloomily and throwing his hands up in disbelief at whatever silent message Headband is giving him.

“You get this _one_ free pass,” he mutters, before painting a finger at Dream sternly. “But after tonight we’re hunting you down again.”

Dream is destroying those compasses the first chance that he gets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I've never written for any of the characters before, so I know it's a little weird sometimes, and adding plot to minecraft is harder than I thought it would be! <3


	3. Over and Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MILD GORE WARNING AGAIN! It's nothing too bad, but still! <3

Dream spends the second half of his free night running to get as far as possible as fast as possible, practically blind in the darkness without a torch to help him see the walls around him.

He spends the first half being led around the cave system on what has to be the most grueling walk of his life.

In the beginning, as he walks behind the two hunters who trade off on carrying their sleeping friend every other minute, the urge to just- slip away is strong. They aren’t even watching him, too busy taking turns carrying their friend and his armor back up to the surface. Dream feels like the worst kind of tag-along as he follows them through the winding path; he's not even a part of their group, even if he is walking behind them. The only reason that he's not being tied up like a criminal is due to the very flimsy 'you get one night' promise that he's not even going to trust all that much; hunters, he'd learned before becoming hunted, will do anything to catch their target. Despite Dream's own suspicions that scream that the hunters are just waiting to strike, they don't. Or maybe they're just pretending really well to give them more time to get their shit together, as it doesn't even look like they can carry one person for more than five minutes at a time- one short person. But they're not even watching him- not enough to make it hard to leave, at least. Occasionally, he'll get a suspicious side-eye from Hood, or maybe a nervous glance from Headband, but that's pretty much it. They're not checking to see what he's up to, not seeming to even let it register just what he’s capable of, despite his still-bloody hands. Rather, it's like he's a child on a lead; they keep checking to make sure that he's there and not running off to get into trouble. What trouble they think he could get himself into and not get out of, Dream has no idea. More than likely, they're keeping tabs so that they can get him the moment the sun hits the sky.

Eventually, it gets annoying to keep catching their eyes when they turn to check on him. The first few times had been funny, and Dream had given short little jaunty waves to each attempt at a discreet glance. Each hunter reacted differently to it; Headband's ears would turn red in embarrassment, and Hood would only look slightly embarrassed before turning back around.

To stop them from checking on him, Dream makes his footsteps louder so that they can hear him better. The sound echoes slightly, blending with the hunters' own footsteps, and the amount of noise makes him slightly uneasy. Dream is still covered in monster gore from the last time he made noise. Which brings up another thing- why was the safe night even _offered_ to someone like him. Really, they should be killing him here and now, rather than leading him back to their camp with a flimsy promise not to hurt him for the night. If he were in their position, that's what he would do; letting someone like who they think he is live is too dangerous. It's just not a risk worth taking. If Dream hadn’t observed them being idiots together, he would be less wary than he is now, as they march towards whatever brief glimpse of the night sky that the cave gives them. Most hunters are silent as ghosts, too caught up in whatever they're trying to do to have a conversation; it's what's normal, and Dream has never seen anything else from them. Really, he considers as they turn another corner while playing ‘follow the torchlight’, it’s the silence- broken only by his intentionally loud footsteps, he's practically _stomping_ \- that’s putting him on edge. Headband and Hood aren’t talking, seeming just as uneasy that he’s there as he is. Hood’s eyes, despite his loud marching, keep on flicking back to look down at his hands, still covered in blood and eye-goop from earlier.

Dream realizes that the gore is making the hunter uncomfortable, and he can't help but think _good_.

But it doesn’t matter what he thinks, Dream tells himself as they finally find a cavern with an open ceiling and a fuck-ton of torches; the hunters must have started off strong before leaning towards a normal level of light. The paranoia is something that he can understand, though, so he shuts his mouth and keeps his back to the cave wall. The night air brushes against his mouth as he breathes a silent sigh of relief at not being crammed down in the cave system any longer, but it doesn't brush against his face like it used to. Dream tries not to feel resentment at that, no matter how bitter it makes him. A flower is blooming at his feet, something rare to find in a cave, even if it's open to the sky. Slowly, he lifts his boot and hovers it over the yellow thing; killing it wouldn't do anything but waste something that's nearly a miracle. Just as slowly as he lifted his foot up, he sets it back down in the dirt next to the flower. Debating for a while, Dream crouches over the flower and pets it absentmindedly as he considers just what's happened to leave him here.

It doesn't matter what he thinks, because Dream isn’t trusting the promise of a safe night. Eyeing the hunters as they stare at the stone wall ahead of them and seem to wilt a little bit, he thinks. Following the hunters was just the best way to leave the cave; Dream was never going to sit at their fire as an equal and convince them that he’s not what they think he is.

Headband has already climbed out and is trying his best to haul Goggles's dead weight up with Hood pushing from below. Given that they don't have any other way to do it, it's a decent system. Silently, Dream watches as they bring up the armor the same way, piece by piece, and he hopes that they forget he's even there. When he looks back down to the flower, he finds it slightly smeared with the dark undead blood that stains his hands. Dream straightens up and leaves the flower behind him. Hood is already out, leaving him alone but not forgotten. His opinion of the hunters wavers only slightly when Headband reaches down and offers a hand to Dream to pull him up the last stone wall. His hand is bare, and Dream’s gloved one is finger-less and disgusting to touch even without the undead blood.

He takes it, and Dream is hauled out of the cave and offered an awkward smile as Headband lets go and immediately wipes his hand off on his armor, smearing the gore from Dream's hand there. It's childish, but he feels no small amount of satisfaction that Headband is wiping his hand like Dream gave him cooties; he even has the _'yuck'_ expression to go with it,

"You've gotta get a shower, man," Headband laughs lightly as he begins to pick up the pieces of armor one by one. It's a balancing act for sure, but the hunter manages it pretty well.

“Right,” Dream mutters sarcastically, snatching his hand back to his side and putting some distance between himself and the hunters. Because he's totally going to have time to clean off before he's running for his life again. He almost hates the hunters and their privileges, like not being covered in monster gore and being hunted across the world. They watch him scramble back silently, Hood looking tense and Headband looking confused, like he really has no idea what he's just said. Slowly, like he's just realized what his companion said and the rude implications, Hood wilts the slightest bit.

"You Muffinhead," he sighs, running a tired hand down his covered face, "he won't have _time_ for it."

And, like a peasant resents the rich, Dream hates him in that moment- the brutal acknowledgment that Dream is below him on more than one level. The distance between their social classes, a wanted man and a hunter, glares in his face and Dream hates it. Hates that he used to be a sort of noble, that he isn't anymore, that he's this and here, that he has a stupid mask on his face and he can't get it off-

Goggles snores softly on the grassy floor, drawing the attention away from Dream as he stands there fuming. The hunters jump at the chance to change the topic, probably feeling uncomfortable close to him as they sit there and realize just what he doesn't have. They haven't called him any variation of Dream Snatcher since they found him with Goggles, which is slightly baffling but Dream is grateful for it anyway. It's still dark, after all, and End People are more likely to appear now more than ever before.

"I can't carry him again," Headband decides dramatically, taking a few steps back like it will let him abandon his turn to carry his friend, "besides, you're closer. And," he adds as an obvious afterthought, "I'm holding the armor."

"You Muffinhead!" Hood shouts in complaint, scurrying back as well, hands empty of excuses. Still slightly bitter, Dream wonders if that's actually how the hunters get out of things they don't want to do. How the hell do they even get anything done, he wonders as he watches them bicker about it. And it, again, leaves him feeling bitter that they have anyone to bicker with, even over the stupidest of things. These hunters could argue over the color of grass all day long if they wanted to; they have nothing to run from, and by extension, they have all the time in the world.

They have all the time that Dream doesn't have.

“I can carry him?” Dream offers loudly, just wishing that Hood and Headband would shut up and stop rubbing it in, however unintentionally it might be. Hood looks at him like he'd completely forgotten that Dream was even there, but he sees something in Dream's expression and softens his harsh look into something less wary.

“No offense, but I don’t trust you not to throw him off of a cliff or something.”

It's still not even close to friendly, more like the relationship between a dog and a cat, but it's different and even the small sudden change leaves him feeling a little out of place. Still, the genuineness of the attempt to not be a dick pulls him out of his gloom, just a little bit. Headband must see a bonding opportunity, because he jumps into the conversation like it's a shallow pool and not shark-infested waters.

“He wouldn’t do that," Headband defends earnestly as he turns to peer up at Dream, “would you?”

“No, of _course_ not,” Dream lies through his teeth as he does his best not to act like that's exactly what he'd done earlier.

* * *

“Right then, where’s my helmet gone?” Goggles asks groggily as soon as he wakes up and sees it gone from his armor pile, which is next to him because Headband was hoping to scare him with his own reflection in the dull metal. He only looks a little put-out that it didn't work. The two more awake hunters turn to Dream for an answer, and feeling wary of their weird not-wrath for disfiguring it and then chucking the damn thing into the river, Dream lies as smoothly as possible.

“It- ah, it fell off in the river-”

His voice makes Goggles eye’s snap over, and they’re very wide when he takes in Dream’s presence.

“He threw me off a cliff!” Goggles screams shrilly, pointing at Dream while scrambling back on his cot. To his surprise, the other two hunters only look mildly concerned, seeming very slow as they process what Goggles just said, and what their earlier conversation had been about while standing outside the cave. The irony of it all makes Dream wince a little bit, but the hunters just turn to stare at him like he could possibly defend himself from what Goggles is saying. He does his best.

“There was a skeleton. And you landed on top of me,” Dream’s voice is slightly scratchy from panic and from talking so much, but no one seems to really care all that much. They turn back to Goggles, looking like this conversation is the most interesting ballgame they’ve ever seen. Well, Headband looks entertained; Hood just looks very tired, and the longer Goggles goes on the more done he’s getting, which isn’t good news for Dream.

“He threatened to kill me!”

“I just said that no one could hear you scream,” Dream defends quickly, knowing how bad that sounds but unwilling to backtrack and cover his mistake. Besides, he had nothing to be sorry for; it’s not like he was wrong when he said it. Goggles flails indignantly, turning to Hood like his friend is actually going to do something about it. Hood, who sighs like a tired parent and shoves another potato onto the fire and completely ignores the puppy dog eyes being sent his way.

“He’s here for the night, and _maybe_ ," he stares Dream down with raised eyebrows, "a bath or something.”

"It'll be _cold_ ," Goggles whines loudly, like he's the one covered in tacky monster blood. Turning to face him, Hood pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs tiredly. To be fair, he's probably been up as long as Dream has; Goggles is the only one who's actually gotten any sleep tonight. And he's still a whiny bitch.

"You _Muffinhead_ -" Hood turns back to Dream and stares in the general direction of his eyes, "it's an extension. You can stay longer, as long as you don't murder us in our sleep or something."

Not really meaning it, Dream nods in false acceptance. And, to his suspicious surprise, that’s that. There aren’t any raised eyebrows or looks thrown his way, just a sullen Goggles, who whines about the loss of his helmet for the next fifteen minutes as Hood makes more baked potatoes. Where he’s going to put them all, Dream has no idea-

Their skin touches, and Dream is hauled out of the cave and thrown to the ground as the sun rises and Hood stares down at him with a sword in his hand and a sort of regret in his eyes.

Their skin touches, Dream is hauled out of the cave, and they go back to camp and George doesn’t wake up at all. When Dream goes to check his pulse, he is pushed away harshly. His hands are red with fresh blood, rather than the blackish blood of the undead. Somehow, he knows that it wasn’t from trying to help.

Their hands touch, and Dream goes back to their camp and he eats and he explains-

And they don’t believe him.

The first chance that he gets for escape doesn’t involve destroying the compasses; instead, Dream shoves the arrow he’s still holding onto into Headband’s thigh in a non-lethal place, and he runs.

To Hood’s credit, he doesn’t look surprised at all. Dream isn’t going to think about why that hurts.

“I told you, you Muffinheads!”

“But-”

“He’s a _Dream_ _Snatcher_ , what did you expect-”

This, it seems, is the last straw for the actual Dream Snatchers. One second, Dream is running away from the hunters, and the next a huge mouth appears in his vision just before he feels sharp teeth crunch into his neck and bite his head clean off.

Their hands touch, and Dream is allowed to spend the night with them and given a promise of fair warning for the morning. He doesn't get to sleep for long before his eyes are snapping open. Dream jerks up with a startled scream trapped in his throat, which is connected to his head, which hasn’t actually been ripped from his body. Yet. His fingers frantically dig at his high collar until they reach the unblemished skin under it. He sits there, tenderly holding his throat and squeezing his eyes shut, until he can find his voice.

Slowly, he turns and finds the hunters, who don’t seem to care that they’re sitting with their back to someone dangerous.

“Don’t call me a Dream Snatcher,” Dream demands weakly from where he’s sitting. Glowing eyes appear in the shadowed treeline like stars, nearly sending him back into the panic of losing his head. He blinks, shakes his head slightly, and stares at the fire instead.

“Is it racist or something?” Goggles asks as he reaches for another potato.

“It’s _wrong_ ,” Dream stresses in response, still not looking away from the fire, "End People are the real ones, anyway."

“End People are peaceful and shy!” Goggles protests immediately, sending a pointed look at Dream who was not, in fact, peaceful and shy. He wants to tear his hair out- better yet, he wants to rip his mask off. Dream wants to peel the mask from his face, and he won’t care when it takes his skin with it, he needs out.

“You killed all those monsters without even _blinking_ , just like a Dream Snatcher-”

This time, he’s expecting the decapitation that happens the next time they call him 'Dream Snatcher'. Somehow, that makes it worse.

This time, when Headband grasps his hand and begins trying to help him out, Dream throws himself back into the cave and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was sort of fun to write, but I know it's weird, so if you have any questions please leave a comment and I'll answer as soon as possible! I'd love to hear any theories! <3


	4. Talk to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings! But if that needs to change, please tell me and I'll fix it right up! <3

After being thrown through every possible outcome and surviving in a little less than half of them, Dream’s tolerance for anything too sudden is at an all time low. He’s like a spooked horse, except infinitely more dangerous because of what he was before- and what he is now. Really, he knows more than he should of either side of the coin, and that makes him a risk to himself and others. So far, it’s helped him, but now, as he takes the dark turns at random, he almost wishes that he’d never looked her in the eyes- never look anyone in the eyes. The walls echo every footstep he takes, and the sound slaps sharply against his brain as he goes as fast as he can. Even his own safety is compromised, shoved aside in favor of just getting away. Dream is tripping, catching himself and scraping his hands and still going because he doesn't have the choice to stop; if he stops now, something could happen and it would be his own fault for taking even a second to rest. Besides, he'll be harder to track if he doesn't stop to consider his path. A random trail is much harder to track, and Dream has to get away.

Because he hadn’t learned- hadn’t had the chance-

Dream didn’t know that he could _do_ that. That he could connect with someone as ordinary as a hunter without any sort of spark.

To be a Dreamer, you had to have that spark of something inhuman; it’s an essential part of being something Other. But, if you never run into someone who can light it, someone like you, then you’ll live a pretty normal life. Having been enlightened, as The Dream calls it, only a few years ago (he thinks), Dream had no idea that he could connect with someone who didn’t have the spark. It’s not like The Dream kept normal people in its walls, and there was a reason that Dreamers always wore something that covered every inch of skin. Nobody had told him, and it's going to get him killed. Which, if he really thinks about it, could have been the point.

“Dream!”

  
  


Despite speeding up, Dream doesn’t get as far as he’d have liked before he’s being wrestled to the ground like big game during a sporting event. His already bleeding hands tear even more against the wall that he tries to grab as he goes down. Hitting the floor with a hunter on top of him is much worse than hitting water, though that could be due to the reason that each one happened. With Goggles, he'd been saving their asses. With whoever is on top of him now, he'd been running from the hunter and then he'd been hitting the floor and skidding just the slightest bit, covering his back in dust. Thought racing and body aching, Dream stares dumbly up at Hood, who stares back with pinched eyebrows and a frown. The hunter on top of him opens his mouth, and Dream immediately bucks his hips, planting his feet to get as much power into the action as possible so he can throw the hunter off. He rolls and struggles like a rabid dog, and he’s pretty sure that he feels whoever is on top of him hesitate, but it doesn’t matter.

That’s not going to stop a connection from being forged, from Dream being thrown through every possible way he could die in this cave.

But the hands that finally slam him into the cold stone floor are gloved, completely covered. Not really meaning to, Dream goes the slightest bit limp with relief. Then, he's being held down with one hand as the hunter uses his teeth to quickly pull the other one off. There's a clear debate in Hood's mind as he rapidly glances around for skin to grab that's not Dream's gore covered hands, where the mess is actually starting to dry and flake off. Just as Dream is preparing to start up even more of a struggle, Hood's hand crashes into his face with enough force to snap it to the side.

This time, he’s a little more prepared for it. In the split second that it takes for the connection to form, Dream separates himself from it as far as he can, shoving himself into the furthest corner of his mind. He can’t escape the bond, but now, rather than living in it, he’s watching it like it’s a theater play. All the while, he can still see, hear, and feel what’s happening to his body. It’s almost worse than going through every possible outcome; it feels like the worst kind of sleep paralysis because he knows that this is real. At least he knows what's going on around him; when he touched Headband, he must have looked like an idiot, limp and frozen and probably looking like he was going to fall over at the slightest breeze.

Now, he gets to watch Hood bend over him, something like a suspicious sort of wonder in his eyes as he looms over Dream’s body. Really, it had been a smart move to think of it. Dream can admit that, however grudgingly, it was observant and well thought out. That doesn't mean that he has to like it. Besides, this will likely only last a few minutes at most, and then he can run farther and hide and not be dragged back to their camp that he technically hasn't even been to yet. Alternate futures are fun.

Speaking of that, if he checks back into what could have happened, he finds himself covered in blood and panting as he leaves Hood to bleed out in the cave that real him is going to be dragged out of by his foot. Or not, actually; the hunter has gotten off of him with only a few cautious pokes to make sure he's not going to move, and is now bending down and sliding his hands under him.

Slowly, he scoops Dream up, only struggling a little bit as he tosses him over his shoulder and starts walking back. It’s silent enough to hear the slight whistling of wind through the tunnels, but it’s not like Dream can fill the silence, so he resigns himself to settling in to watch both what’s happening and what could have been. It's pretty nice to be carried, especially since he had expected the whole dragging scenario to be happening.

“This is weird,” Hood eventually sighs, nearly stumbling over a rock. He over-corrects and sends the side of Dream’s head into the cave wall so hard that Dream is sure his mask would have cracked if it weren’t enchanted. His mask is fine, but his skull might not be, fucking hell. Even if he can’t feel that now, split as his mind is, he’ll definitely be feeling it later. He can practically feel Hood’s wince at the loud thunk that the impact makes.

“I am- I am so sorry. Um,”

He goes to readjust his grip, grabs Dream’s ass, almost drops him and backtracks to his leg-

The wet squelch of a hand sliding in monster gore sounds in both of their ears, and if it were Headband or Goggles, Dream is pretty sure he’d have been dropped.

"Oh, goodness," Hood whines, wiping his hand off on his own armor, just like Headband had.

"But, like, I really am sorry about this? It's just that it worked with Sapnap, and you could've died or something."

Dream, who wouldn't respond even if he could out of spite, stays silent.

The second he twitches, Hood grabs his hand and he's thrown through another, even wilder and more ridiculous, bout of possible futures. One of them includes being trampled by cows- while still in the cave. Underground.

“This is so awkward,” his kidnapper mutters lightly as they walk, fingers still linked. It seems that, with Dream not being an active threat, Hood has relaxed enough to not be so stiff. If only he knew, Dream muses as he keeps an eye on what’s going on- as much as he can from his upside down position, at least. It’s really for the best that Hood is the one carrying him and not the other way around, even with the awkward ass grabbing; the hunter’s got a good sense of direction. How he’s not lost, Dream has no idea; the cave is dark and long and twisting in a way that tells him at least half of the skeletons were people who never found their way out and got an attitude about it. The hunter sighs in relief as he nears what can only be the exit, picking up his pace slightly. It jostles Dream on his shoulder, continuously knocking the breath out of him, but that’s quite literally a problem for future Dream.

In another future, Hood slams his head into the ground too hard while trying to pin him, not seeing a sharp rock, and it kills him. Not immediately, no, because that would be too easy; it’s slow, and despite the way that Hood fumbles to apply pressure to it, Dream isn’t scared to die like this. Not when he's actually living and breathing in another future that's still playing out.

Dream comes back to the current future as he’s being set down on the ground in a sprawled heap, likely in the middle of their camp- which reduces his chances of escape. This time, when he tries to move, he’s able to curl his fingers slightly. The last of the missed possibilities are beginning to flicker vaguely by, which should be a good thing. Actually, it would be great- if Dream hadn’t kissed the wall, courtesy of Hood, and had the air continuously knocked out of what he’s pretty sure are cracked ribs, also courtesy of Hood.

At the very least, he’s got enough awareness to tune in to the conversation going on around him. Even if breathing is too painful right now, he’s got good entertainment. And, sue him, he enjoys hearing them interact with each other the way that groups are supposed to. It's not like anybody at The Dream had been jumping rope and playing tag in the dimly lit halls.

Someone, probably Goggles, crouches next to him and pokes at the throbbing in his head; Dream has never wanted to bite someone more in his _life_. It feels like someone just lit that area of fire, but he still can't really do anything but grit his teeth. Hood, who is still holding his hand, moves his fingers from Dream's hand to his face. Which is just as awkward as it sounds, he feels like a dog. And he's still being held under.

In the most ridiculous future yet, all of the parrots in the jungle start shouting mean words that slowly destroy the morale of the group until they all give up their lifestyles and build a parrot sanctuary.

“Oh, man- his head-”

“It was an accident!”

And it’s pretty hilarious to listen to them worry, like Dream isn’t in an involuntarily semi-catonic state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little short, I'm really sorry!!! But,,, it has more BadBoyHalo in it, which is what I was going for!!! This is more of a filler chapter anyway, and I hope that nobody's disappointed with it! <3


	5. Kind of a Beach Episode, but With No Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think you’ve ever been this happy to see me,” Hood laughs as he waves from over Headband. In response, Goggles’ eyes shoot to Dream, who quickly shakes his head in response. It’s better that the other two not know what happened.
> 
> "Any more wet dreams?" Headband asks as he rifles through the bag in his arms, single-handedly ruining the moment.
> 
> "Not about you," Goggles fires back. Headband cackles at the answer as Hood tries to tell them how inappropriate it is to say that. It's incredibly obvious that no one is listening, both too busy doing heir own thing.
> 
> Goggles hasn’t stopped staring at him with a fiery curiosity in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is both very late and very bad, I'm so sorry! <3

Dream wakes up feeling like someone has tried to dig his brain out with a spoon, abandoned the process for a while, and came back with vengeance and a sword. He feels awful in that painful bone-deep ache kind of way that you can get from slamming your toe into a wall, except it’s his entire body and doubled by at _least_ four. It’s all made worse by the smell of potatoes and the knowledge that he’s with the hunters again. Really, they haven’t done anything to him, and even their attempts to harm him in the beginning had missed by miles- though some arrows had gotten too close for comfort. Being chased by this group is more like being followed by people who want to study an endangered species than it is like he’s being hunted. They almost seem soft, like they don’t know what to do for someone they’re supposed to have killed by now. Speaking of that, there’s no way his ‘until morning’ promise is still valid; Dream can feel the heat of the sun through his mask, which puts them at around mid-morning. His head is slightly elevated from the rest of him, which is doing nothing but making his neck ache, but it’s the thought that counts; the thought being that these hunters are trying to handicap him with extreme neck pain doesn't really occur to him. Dream doesn’t think that these hunters could hurt anything intentionally. They must be new to the job, if they're trying to make him comfortable. 

Trying to listen to what’s happening around him is useless, as right now it’s nothing but a few vague mumbles and the sounds of more than one person rummaging around in bags for something specific and- if he had to guess- very small, as the hunters are really searching. Like, really, really searching. A few times, Dream swears that he hears the sound of a bag being turned upside down and emptied, clangs ringing out as everything tumbles out onto the floor. One such thing rolls and hits his ankle lightly. It feels like a bowl, maybe, but Dream isn’t going to open his eyes and check. Everything hurts- even the light behind his eyelids hurts enough for him to really consider if it’s even worth it to open them, possible escape weapon or no.

A loud clang rings out, obviously the sound of metal hitting stone.

“I’ve got the pot ready, start chopping off his toes.”

That gets his eyes to shoot open so fast that if his eyelids could give him whiplash they would have, because what the _hell_. Luckily, his eyes are hidden behind his stupid mask so he hasn’t given himself away, but seriously- what the hell. Dream, as a testament to how his life has been going ever since being kicked out, has to actually consider the possibility of being in danger of being eaten for a second. There are hard times where people get desperate- he's seen it in futures and he's seen it in real life; the outcome usually does include cannibalism. But then there's the question of someone being mentally capable of killing and eating another human being- the hunters don't have the mental capacity to just kill him already, so cannibalism is off the table for now.

Right, he’s with the hunters again. The actual forced joining of their group, which he can blearily remember as a burst of increasingly ridiculous futures and a small amount of accidental-but-entirely-platonic groping, is a little blurry to him. And, he remembers as his head pulses in time with his heartbeat, a healthy dose of head wounds. So, unless they’ve suddenly become cannibals, he’s fine. Relatively fine, at least; he’s still kind of at their (admittedly, very easy to obtain) mercy.

“Oh my God, George, shut the fuck up it’s not gonna work.”

“Language!”

Their voices almost make his ears ring with their volume. If he were anyone else, he would likely be groaning right now, fingers coming up to clutch at his head where he can feel the itch of dried blood at the edge of his mask and in his hair. But Dream had- before these loud hunters ruined it- lived in relative silence for years. When you could speak with just a slight touch of your fingers, or a flicker of eye-contact, no one had to talk to each other. It was simpler than how the rest of the world communicates; you can’t really lie when you can only communicate intent. Falling back on those near silent years, Dream begins moving. He’s silent as death when he begins shifting, slowly working his hands under himself and pushing his body up as quickly as he dares to. The process, as he expected, is painfully slow- and painful in general; every movement has him gritting his teeth, and his neck is tight from resting in such an awkward position on something so lumpy. Eventually, his back is slightly elevated, but his head is still resting on whatever is under it. Slowly allowing himself to slump back down, Dream holds in a huff of frustration. His head is basically a dead weight attached to his neck, which- after the future where he didn’t have it- feels wrong to complain about, but still. There’s not much he can do at the moment aside from lay there and hope no one steps on him or something.

Then, at the peak of his frustration, whatever’s under his head is yanked away and his head hits the ground with a dull thump.

“Fuck,” he groans after he can see more than white again. Blinking against the spots and the bright sunlight in his face, he rubs at the edges of his mask like he’s rubbing his head. Headband is looking down at him with a wince and a tiny amount of guilt on his face- he must have been the one to move the thing- a bag, apparently. Goggles pops into his vision, his head hovering near Headband’s and a smile on his face. Dick.

“Oh, good, you’re up.”

He looks ans sounds tired, like his won possible head wound was bothering him too much for him to get any actual sleep. Hood’s head pops up between the other two, completing the trio of hunters. Dream kind of wants to fade back into the floor. Instead, he rolls onto his hands and knees and forces himself up off of the dirt floor to be at eye-level with the group. They back up to make room for him as he straightens up, but there’s rope in Goggles’ hands and he knows that he’s not getting far if he runs- and if he does, he’ll probably be hog tied and dragged behind them like a naughty llama. Deciding to get out later, he offers his wrists and a disarming smile. Goggles’ smile is a lot sharper as he wraps the rope from Dream’s wrists to his elbows and loops it back down through his limbs so that the end comes from between his hands. He would make a bondage joke if he didn’t think that Goggles was just waiting for an excuse to shove him into a ravine.

“What if I fall?” 

Goggles gives him a look before sniffing at him like a little bitch.

“I hope you do.”

* * *

Apparently, the hunters didn’t think to pack up the camp before they rendered his arms useless, which means that he gets to sit back and watch them do it by themselves, which isn’t very entertaining. Occasionally, he offers petty commentary, but he mostly keeps his mouth shut and curled up into a smug smile as he makes prolonged eye-contact with whoever seems to be struggling the most at the moment. Sure, he’s restrained, but is he having to figure out how to shove a sleeping pack into another bag that’s roughly the same size? No, no he’s not.

“We could just,” Headband makes an obscure gesture to Dream, who’s been sitting on the ground and watching the sun climb in the sky, “tie it to him like a donkey.”

Goggles, who's muttering about how Dream is enough of an ass anyway, looks like he’s seriously considering it, even though there’s a glint in his eyes that tells Dream he knows that it won’t work. This is probably just revenge for the whole helmet thing. Extensive, petty revenge. Dream pulls himself up so that he’s not half laying down.

“I’m not carrying _shit_ -”

“Language!”

“-I’m a prisoner.”

For emphasis, he shakes his tied arms up and down obnoxiously, pulling at the ropes in the process. The end of it snakes around in the dust like a tail. It gets him out of having to pack anything, at least.

* * *

It’s only after they’ve packed up the camp and began walking that Dream has the idea to ask what’s happening. Even then, it's a little slurred. To be fair, he’s essentially walking off a concussion, and he’s still very crusty from defending Goggles and later rolling around on a cave floor with Hood on top of him. He swears that he can feel the dust even under his mask, which is both bittersweet and extremely annoying. If he ever gets this thing off, he’s going to have a hell of a tan line.

Hood, who’s holding the end of his improvised leash, ends up being the one to answer him.

“We’re going to take you to a cleric,” he says, like it’s not an alarming thing to say to someone who’s got a bounty on their head. Cleric’s are only really found in villages, where his wanted posters are probably posted. Additionally, cleric’s are always looking for test subjects, which Dream has had enough of in his life. He thinks… he can’t really remember, actually. All of the possible futures have blended with what actually happened, so he tends to not think about the past too much. The one certainty he has in his life is that nothing is for certain.

Dream, words being beyond him right now, just grumbles out some vague noises that could be slightly panicked words if you listened closely enough. Even though he himself can’t be sure of what he meant to say, Hood answers him like it’s their own secret language, and not like Dream is about to get heat stroke on top of his fractured skull. His head _aches_.

“Uh huh, exactly.”

Which isn’t helpful at all, and it makes Dream feel like a child who can’t talk yet, but whatever. He has enough faith in his abilities of escape that he’s pretty sure he can get away before he gets sold like rotten flesh.

“Also, George- you know which one he is I think? George has been having weird dreams and Sapnap's convinced him that he’s dying, so we’re seeing the cleric for that too.”

He’s pretty sure that this George guy is Goggles, but not sure enough to say it out loud and risk being wrong. If it is Goggles, Dream will count this as karma for being a little bitch to him. Who names their kid _George?_

* * *

They hit a desert at some point- Dream wasn’t paying attention to when, too busy plotting his inevitable escape- and it’s hell on earth. The sand is hard to walk through, and he’s stepped on more than one cactus by the time that they see a tree and decide to take a break. 

There’s not enough coverage for him to take a chance and make a run for it, so he squeezes himself under the tree as far away from the others as he can get and tries his best to not resent his entire life. It’s hot, hotter than anything he’s ever had to endure- and he’s played with blue fire before with the scars to prove it. There’s something about the prolonged heat though, that’s so different from swiping your hand through fire to prove something. This is pointless, and exhausting, and Hood had eventually given in and made Dream actually carry something by tying it to his hands, which has been pulling at his shoulders for what feels like hours. He rolls the sore area miserably, letting his head sink down until it’s cradled by his tied arms. The shade that it offers is nice, but the heat that stays on the back of his neck- the heat which is in the air and horrible- is torture. Everyone else has enchanted clothing, likely because they’ve had to do desert hunts before. Dream, like the other poor souls who have been the target, does not have enchanted clothes. In fact, he just has extra layers of fabric that doesn’t allow even the slightest breeze through.

“Come on, guys. It can’t be much farther!”

And it’s not that Dream's a pessimist- but he would love more than anything to throw a baby cactus at Hood just to hear something that’s not positive reinforcement come from his mouth. The chance to ruin someone’s optimism never comes as Goggles tugs on the end of the rope connected to Dream like the dick that he is.

“Ugh, why didn’t you just kill me,” Dream grumbles as he’s pulled up to continue the stupid desert hike.

Headband scratches at the back of his head, “well…” It’s obviously meant as a joke, as a ‘we _could_ , if you want’ type of thing, and he almost has to hold in a huff of laughter when he meets the hunter’s eyes.

Hood, who’s been listening in and who apparently has no idea what just happened between Dream and Headband, speaks up.

“You’re not what we expected, and it’s kind of throwing us for a loop.”

Somehow, he makes it sound like a good thing. And, if it’s keeping him alive, Dream is willing to leave it at that. His leash is given back to Headband, who looks happier than Goggles usually does. The hunter always looks less than thrilled to have it, like he thinks Dream is somehow having fun being tied to him.

They begin walking again, and he knows that he’s not the only one who keeps glancing back longingly at the minimal shade.

* * *

“We’re… not sure what you _are_ , exactly,” Goggles admits when it’s his turn to walk the prisoner. For safety reasons, they’re in the middle of the group- which is a really loose term for what the ten feet between each person thing they have going on is. The desert heat is oppressive, and it makes him long for the humidity of the jungle. Just to make it worse for his captor, Dream shuffles behind him, being sure to randomly stop and occasionally dig his heels in. He can hear Headband laughing behind them, which makes him huff in return as he tries to keep a straight face while being a pain in the ass.

“Like, we’re not new to this hunting thing-”

“Sure,” Dream tosses out, hearing his disbelief soak into the words. The guy looks eighteen, and the other two don’t look much older. There’s no way that they’ve been hunting for long. Goggles ignores him with only a short annoyed look. Then, almost to make up for it, he drops a bomb directly on top of Dream that rocks his world so hard that everything is almost staticy for a few seconds.

“But we’ve never hunted one that could talk.”

Dream, suddenly very willing to be led around like a show pony if it means more information, stops resisting as much. Looking smug, like this was his goal, Goggles keeps talking. He's got to be less obvious next time; Dream can't let them know that they can hold this over his head.

“They’ve always had the same creepy face thing,” the hunter turns around a gestures to the stupid mask attached to Dream’s face, ”but they could’t really talk. Kind of boring, really. Like hunting undead- they kind of groaned a little bit.”

And here’s the thing-

These masks are only made by The Dream to brand traitors as fair game to whatever hunter happens to find the bounty first. They are made exclusively by The Dream. These hunters have either hunted more rogue Dream Walkers, or it’s a scary coincidence and someone decided to strap the masks to undead for shits and giggles. Dream has never been one to believe in coincidences. Besides, the masks don’t come off. Unless the person wearing them dies or something, which he's never seen in person, but he's pretty sure that's how the binding curse works.

Dream feels a little sick as his lips press into a thin line, knowing all of the implications and what they mean. This changes everything.

He stays quiet for the rest of Goggles’ turn of walking him, despite the minimal goading his silence gets. Dream needs to think about this before he decides anything else, and he needs to get out of here as soon as possible.

* * *

Headband’s turn to walk him isn’t as informative, but it does calm him down significantly. Enough to ask a few non-related questions.

“Sell you- dude, Bad would _cry_ if we sold someone, we couldn’t get away with that.”

Dream is only ‘someone’ because he can talk; the offer that had been made to him before he left suddenly makes a lot more sense. It’s likely a good thing that these hunters have no idea what he actually is; there’s an amazing amount of money offered for people like him in the underground markets. But, they also seem a little attached to him by now, shown by the frequent offers of water from Hood and the companionable chatter that Headband keeps up even when Dream doesn’t respond. Goggles can’t do anything about it- best two out of three means that Dream has immunity for now.

"You're like, our mascot at this point. We've adopted you."

His mind flashes back to what Goggles had said, and he frowns. Sometimes, he wishes that he could touch himself and see the future- just to see if he can make it out of here before he gets strep throat or something and is no longer seen as a person. He already kind of isn't, he guesses, if e's the unofficial mascot of the group. That's a terrifyingly slippery slope to fall down, he knows.

There’s a spire in the distance, probably some sort of watchtower. With a victorious shout, Goggles begins running towards it.

* * *

The village, when they get there, is empty aside from a few undead who are dressed in the native clothes. Cobwebs cling eerily to the buildings in thick, spiderless bundles, and there's not an iron guardian in sight. The entire scene screams ‘dead’ and ‘wrong’, but Dream can’t bring himself to say anything. He’s not sure if he could say anything without sounding like a superstitious elder, and his throat hurts too much anyway. A deep sniff of the air, and Dream knows why; the smell of magic is so sharp that it hurts to breathe deeply, and small breaths sting like he's trying to breathe in sand. Still, he stays quiet; it won’t affect the hunters, and he’s not going to admit to (another) weakness while he’s at a disadvantage already. Besides, if they know he’s lost his voice, then there’s nothing separating him from previous targets anymore. Still, magic in the air usually isn't a good sign- it can act as poison to some non-humans. Dream isn't dead yet though, so that's probably not what's happening here, but there is something. Something dark and dangerous and ancient. The air feels like the air of the enchanted library back at The Dream, which always required a light touch and a lot of nerve if you ever visited it. Hoping he’s wrong, he stops looking for a functioning guardian and begins looking for the remains of one; something is better than nothing, even if Dream already has an idea of what’s happened here.

When the inhabitants of a village become corrupted, iron guardians leave. Despite the undead villagers, there must have been some sort of magic- he can almost taste it in the air. Dream would say necromancy, but that magic doesn’t create undead with rotting flesh like the ones that watch the group from the windows. Say what you want about necromancy, but it tends to create smooth skin and troubled minds; he's never seen an undead come out of it. It all they got was the rotting remains, no one would want necromancers to bring anyone back in the first place.

The sunlight, bright as it is, doesn't reflect off of any iron pieces. Dream can feel his heat trying to hammer in his chest as he watches everyone walk further into the village. There was something wrong here once- there probably still is. He hacks out a cough that sounds slightly too wet for someone who’s been dragged through a desert, barely muffling it with his arm. The action jerks on the rope, which Headband has started to fray the ends of with his absent minded rubbing, but the hunters don’t seem to notice. The group is too busy poking their heads into houses and rummaging through chests left in houses. They, he notices as his throat tickles again, don’t seem to be holding back coughs, so they’re probably fine. He stumbles over the steps to a porch, catching his balance before he actually falls, and he keeps walking. The town center is grand in a simple way; the floor is carved into intricately, but everything is the same color so it’s hard to see. The bell, which shimmers with enchantment, is little more than a hunk of heavy rust on the edge of the fountain; the metals are ones that don’t rust, and something is wrong. When he blinks, the bell is shiny and new, swaying slightly despite there not being a breeze. The cobwebs are gone as well.

“Wow, this must be what it’s like to be you,” he hears Headband mutter, followed by Goggles’ insulted responses, “how boring.”

“Whatever you say Snapmap-”

Dream stares up into the stained glass window of what looks like a church. Despite not being able to feel it drip down his lips, Dream is _very_ aware of it when his nose begins gushing blood. Mostly because he tries to breath in through his nose and gets nothing but copper scented liquid and no air. He can feel it building up in his mask, climbing up to just under his cheeks like it’s the sea level during a full moon. Thinking fast, he tilts his head down and lets it run out of the slash in his mask- that stupid looking smile that’s just at the bridge of his nose. The slit is wide but thin, and the blood isn’t draining fast enough to stop rising. Dream keeps his head down, allowing it to flow out of the eye holes as well and thanking whatever is up there that the mask wasn’t skin tight to his face. He may bleed out in a creepy desert village in the middle of nowhere, but at least he's not going to drown.

“Dude, what the hell-”

“I’m good,” he pushes out, knowing that his teeth are red from the blood sliding down his throat and into his mouth, “nose bleed.”

There’s no way to stem the blood flow with the mask stuck to his face, so he just has to wait for it to stop and find some water afterwards. Like the fountain he'd glanced at in the center of town a few houses back.

Goggles, who he can’t see but can definitely hear the astonished noises of, walks closer.

“You look like a-”

Dream knows what he’s going to say without even touching him.

Monster.

“- failed art project. Like, someone tried to be edgy or something and spilled the paint.”

Okay, never mind. 

But it’s odd, that they didn’t say what he assumed they would. With blood sliding from his mask and covering his teeth, Dream looks like the monster they’re supposed to be hunting- and he knows it. But they, somehow, don’t. It's like he's gone from something mysterious and scary to just a part of their lives. Honestly, it's mildly insulting; no matter how much it sucks to be hunted, there's a reason that he wasn't just killed right there in that room.

Luckily, Hood comes back from scouting the houses at that moment, saving him from having to choke a response out through the blood. Dream can’t see him, he’s too busy draining blood from his mask, but he definitely hears the startled shriek and the reassurances of Headband that their favorite and only captive is not going to die, hopefully. Seconds later, a hand is lightly resting on his shoulder like someone is leaning down to look at his face. Which is, and has been, covered by a mask the entire time.

“Oh, goodness, that’s- do you… need help?”

It’s so hesitant, and the hunter is so obviously uncomfortable that Dream almost laughs as he takes in a breath to send him away. He chokes on it, and the hand on his shoulder flinches; he must have coughed up some blood from his throat. He has, he can taste it, and Dream knows that it must be staining his teeth.

“No offense,” another hand roughly slams into his back repeatedly as he gags, “but you sound like you’re dying.”

Headband doesn’t seem all that concerned about it, but he’s also the only one that Dream actually could talk to before he started choking. The most reliable out of the rest for this situation, Headband- he thinks it’s him, and it’s not like he can check- takes the rope and leads Dream back from the direction they had come from. His nose slowly stops bleeding, but he can't open his eyes without getting blood in them, so he lets himself be led. The second his feet catch on the floor, he knows that they’re all back at the fountain in the center of town again.

“Bath time for the naughty child,” he sounds unreasonably smug about it, but he’s quickly yelled at by Goggles.

“That’s disgusting- people drink that!”

“You already drank from it and refilled the bottles.”

“But _other_ people-”

“Let me know when you find them, if your colorblind ass can even see them,” Dream hears Headband shoot back as he sits on the edge of the fountain and pulls his fist layer- the green hooded shirt- off. It gets stuck at his elbows because of the rope, but it’ll have to be good enough for now. He can’t get water in his mask without either trying to splash it in or just bending down backwards and letting it fill his mask over and over again until it’s clean, and well-

He’s still covered in dust and monster crust, which he would love to get off of his face completely, instead of just splashing at it uselessly.

So he throws himself back into the shallow water, feeling the sharp tug of the rope as Hood forgets to give him some slack. It makes his wrists burn, but he’s too busy watching the air bubbles leave his mask through cloudy pink water. He eventually sits up to get some air, eyes still shut, and then he’s under again. Dream repeats the process a few times, watching the pink tint fade from his vision each time. On the last time, he opens his mouth to rinse the blood out of it. It’s a relief to not taste blood anymore.

It’s a relief- but something is still wrong with the village. Bending forwards so that the water drains from his mask, Dream quickly tugs the green pullover back on, wrestling with it a little bit before he manages to stick his head through the hole.

His head, where Hood has assisted in giving him a concussion less than a day ago, doesn’t hurt anymore.

* * *

His face is clean, and the sun is still high in the sky, when the hunters lock him in a house by himself and promise to come back for him in the morning. He's still wet, even, hair plastered against his forehead as he looks around his room for the night. It's clean, remarkably so, especially for the amount of sand that these kinds of villages usually have.

Collapsing down onto the bed, sheets crisply tucked against the mattress like someone still lives here- it makes him feel wrong, like he's somewhere he isn't supposed to be. Dream hasn't been home in a long time, if he ever even had one, but he's feeling it for the first time now. He can feel it in the way that the sun is shining, but he can't leave- in the way that it's midday, but silent as a dead town outside. Dream slowly raises a hand to his face and knocks absentmindedly on his mask, hands almost shaking with the amount of home-sickness running through his brain. He knocks and knocks until he can't bear the sound anymore, and even some more after that just to fill the silence. And it's so stupid, he's lived in silence for years. But the hunters had destroyed his version of normal in a matter of hours. Anyway, he's used to animal noises, which are gone as well; that's what's putting him on edge with the silence. Nothing alive lives here, but it used to. Stopping the tapping on his mask for now, he lays down and closes his eyes- might as well get some sleep before he's dragged around again.

* * *

When Dream looks around, all he sees is green. Well, there’s a lot of beige too, but the green is eye catching. Every decoration in the room is a bright green, a lime green, a dark green, a dusty green- Dream gets the feeling that whoever lived here either liked the color or was desperate enough to not just have sand colored everything that they got as much as they could. It clashes, despite all being the same base color. And it’s night, going off of the low amount of light that he’s working with as he judges the interior decorating skills of whoever used to live here.

Then, he hears the screams.

He’s up in a flash, kicking himself out of bed with an elegance that comes from having to be ready to run at all times. His hands, fingers splayed, hit the door and jiggle the handle rapidly. It's not that he's gotten attached to the others- they locked him in here in the first place- but if they die, so does he. The screaming is getting louder, more hysterical, and he can’t do anything about it but pace and hit the door. He keeps trying, slamming into the door uselessly, like a caged animal trying to escape poachers. Something is happening- something _bad_ \- and he can’t even get out to help. Whether he's trying to save his own skin or whoever is screaming, he has no idea- he just needs _out_. Dream knew that separate houses had been a bad idea the second that Hood had proposed it to ‘give each other privacy’; Dream didn’t have any privacy before he was kicked out, and he's so new to the concept that he doesn't really care, not really, and splitting up in this town had left him with a bad feeling as soon as he’d heard them blocking the door. His fists clench against the solid wood under them, nails biting into the palms of his gloves as he forces himself to think. The room is dark without the sunlight to steam through the windows, and Dream can’t see a way out that won’t involve him dislocating his shoulder to fit through the window. The hunters, paranoid as they are, had blocked the door earlier that day so he _wouldn't_ get out. Dream has to get _out_ of a room that's been changed to keep him _in_. And now it’s coming back to bite them _all_ in the ass, Dream thinks as he pulls himself up to the window sill. The opening, while it doesn't have glass, is almost comically small.

There isn’t another option right now.

He feels the pop of his joint as it slides itself out from where it’s supposed to be, and he doesn’t bother to hold in the loud curses he makes as he pulls himself through the window with his one good hand. The other arm feels like it's on fire, and it's making it a lot harder to climb out of the child-sized window, but he manages it. There's not time to catch his breathe when he gets through, just like there isn't a ledge to rest on.

Knowing that there isn’t a ledge to catch him and actually not having anything to slow his fall are two very different things.

When Dream finally hits the ground, his one good arm crumples under his weight and his mask hits the ground so hard that he swears he hears it crack. Or maybe that was his skull, it could be either one at this point. When he opens his eyes, there are splinters on the ground. Dream doesn't have time to think about it right now. The screams are rising in pitch as Dream shoves his hand under himself and tries to pull his hurting body off of the sandy floor. It's slow work, made harder by the whole 'one arm' thing. He's cursing up a storm as he slowly leans against the sandstone wall at his side, panting the slightest bit from the strain.

Then, the world goes eerily silent, and Dream throws himself through the village.

After a few seconds, the sobbing starts up. Running through the town as he follows the sound, Dream ends up outside the hunters’ chosen residence, which is much closer to the church than he would like, but beggars can't be choosers. His shoulder is throbbing, still dislocated and jostled by all of the running. Dream kills two birds with one stone and uses that one to break the door in and pop it back into place at the same time. He bites his lip to hold the pained noises in, and it really does feel better now. The door, which had rattled with the attack, still stands strong. He does it again with his other shoulder, which does nothing but make it hurt as well. The door still doesn’t give, so Dream flies at it feet first this time, hitting just above and below the handle. It crashes open, slamming into the wall, and there they are.

The room, despite all of the green decoration that Dream’s has, is bathed in red that looks black out of the low moonlight. Two hunters are alive out of three; the room reeks of death, which he's sure only someone like him can smell. Goggles is the one sitting up in his bed as he stares at his friend in shock, and Headband is just staring at Hood from the foot of his friend's bed, like he can't believe it. His hands are covered in blood, but Dream knows without looking too hard that he didn’t do it. Hood is laying still, despite the noises of his friends sobbing, and he’s not breathing. Outside, a phantom is flying around covered in blood. It's haunting green eyes stare at Dream as it passes the window one last time before it flies away. The chunk taken out of the hunter’s neck makes a lot more sense now, as do the slashes across his face and arms. Obviously, the hunters are too young to know what’s happened as fast as Dream can, and even he is gagging against the coppery smell and the torn flesh. It’s horrific, and gory, and exactly the type of thing that Dream would expect from a possible future. He hasn’t touched them recently, unless someone is touching him now, somehow, but it’s the only idea he has. And- at some point- he'd been taught something about initial instincts. The first idea is often the right one, or something like that. So he does the only thing he can think to do to end it, to stop the carnage from affecting the young hunters any longer-

Dream grabs a random sword off of the floor, turns it towards himself, and shoves it into his own stomach. Immediately, the possible future resets with Dream still in the room with the hunters. Goggles is still awake and staring at him with a face so white that he almost glows in the limited light. Headband, apparently just a part of the future, is sleeping again. Dream turns to stare at Goggles, and he can assume without even asking that they’re stuck in this together.

“What did you do?” the hunter asks quietly, fighting to get out of bed and stand up to be face to mask with Dream. Dream, who stumbles back but doesn’t try to run because he knows what it’s like to see this kind of thing for the first time, even if he doesn’t remember it. He opens his mouth to reply, but he has nothing to say. Honestly, he’s only slightly less lost than Goggles probably is. So, he tells the truth.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing- nothing my ass! You just stabbed yourself and everything was fine!”

Dream winces at the memory and hopes that the hunter doesn’t decide to kill him in real life. If he’d had any doubts about this being a connection thing, they’re gone now. The only question now is how it happened, and why.

“How’d you know it wasn’t real,” Goggles says in a whisper, and Dream- well, he didn’t. Even while the sword was sticking out of him, he’d had no idea if it was a possible future or a real one.

“You screamed like a girl,” he decides on, changing the topic so he doesn’t have to think about why he would have stabbed himself- why Goggles was even aware of this, why he hadn’t reset with the others after Dream had shoved a sword into his stomach. There’s no way that Giggles was a Dream Walker- every single instance of touch between the hunters flits through his mind as the evidence; Goggles wears the least amount of clothes among the three of them, surely that would cause problems. And he seems just as lost as Dream is.

So, what changed recently?

Dream had met the hunters, he'd rescued Goggles from drowning and had to babysit his soggy ass, he'd grabbed Headband's hand, he'd gotten chased down and concussed by Hood, and now he's here.

Honestly, fuck these guys.

* * *

“What’s this one going to be like, then?” Goggles asks hesitantly after Dream has explained the bare bones of their situation, sounding reluctant to ask and maybe a little scared of the answer. 

“I- I don’t know,” he admits into the much softer room. They have to be quiet so they don’t wake the hunters up; it’s easier to keep sleeping people alive, after all, and Dream is almost positive that Goggles is already scarred enough from Hood’s death. Dream is contemplating the likelihood of him somehow activating Goggles' spark like his had been, when he hears the scrape of something climbing the wall outside. The sword, previously used to stab himself, is in his hand before he can really blink. God forbid that something comes to kill them now, when they're so close to finishing this future- he hopes. They've been stuck in it for a while at a standstill, because no one has died yet. Usually, the futures don't last this long, they never have before, but this night is already so fucked that Dream isn't going to question it too hard. Unless, he reconsiders, whatever is climbing up the wall outside in coming to kill them. That thing can fuck right off. Dream is ready to defend the room, sword in hand, when he hears an irritated yowl. Then, a village cat hops through the window and into Goggles’ lap. Then another, and another until the room is so filled that Dream can’t move a step for fear of hurting one. Goggles huffs a laugh and reaches for the one closest to him, which crawls into his lap and settles down.

Waiting for the catch, Dream holds his breath and keeps an eye out for anything that could go wrong. But there’s nothing. He breathes a light sigh of relief, letting his shoulders drop; the one that had been dislocated still throbs in this new future, but it’s probably just the phantom pain of hurting it; if the new future starts out the same way, he usually doesn’t have to go through it again, and he’ll just be dropped off at the place where it changes. The cats seem to love Goggles, who hasn’t exactly begun petting them, but who isn’t trying to shove them away either. Actually, he’s started cooing at them.

“They could kill you,” Dream, a seasoned professional in weird futures, tells him in a whisper as he surveys the cats around his feet. Carefully he scoots closer to the wall and slowly lowers himself to sit on the ground with his back against it. The sword stays in his lap, so he should be fine if these things turn out to be infected with some never before heard of disease.

“Right,” Goggles doubts, sending him a wary look but also regarding the cat with more suspicion than he had before, “thanks for the _shit_ advice, I guess.”

Dream stays there, in that new possible future, until the sun rises in it. Time is weird in these things, he has no idea what time it actually is when he falls asleep in the corner of this much nicer future.

* * *

When he wakes up, it’s to two of the hunters standing over him with panic and something damning on their faces.

“George won’t wake up, which is very unlike him.”

Grumbling tiredly, Dream sits up to face Hood, who's using the 'tell me what happened or you're grounded' tone that he's heard parents use. God, he can almost feel the weight of cats on him, hair tickling his nose as they sniff around the nose of his mask. Cat hair, he’d learned in that future, gets everywhere, with no exception.

“Check now,” he yawns as he slowly moves his shoulder. It’s tense, but it was never actually dislocated so he’s got nothing to worry about. It’s just going to be really annoying to deal with for a little bit, until his brain realizes that nothing actually happened to it. Stupid brain and it's insistence that something has to happen. Why is it even worried about his shoulder- it's a brain. Hood gives him a slightly concerned look as Dream flops back onto the bed when Headband goes to check again. The look, a little hard in it's concern, softens significantly when Headband comes back with a groggy Goggles in tow. The look of relief that crosses Goggles’ face when he sees Hood is so strong that Dream looks away for a second, feeling a little embarrassed for the guy. The moment, even if Hood doesn’t know it, is private and sappy.

“I don’t think you’ve ever been this happy to see me,” Hood laughs as he waves from over Headband. In response, Goggles’ eyes shoot to Dream, who shakes his head so hard that the room almost begins to spin. His hair picks up static from the way that it's rubbing against the pillow under his head, which makes him grin privately to himself. Goggles gives him a look, like he's curious, but Dream doesn't say anything else, he doesn't need to. It’s just better that the other two not know what happened.

"Any more wet dreams?" Headband asks as he rifles through the bag in his arms, single-handedly ruining the moment.

  
"Not about you," Goggles fires back. Headband cackles at the answer as Hood tries to tell them how inappropriate it is to say that. It's incredibly obvious that no one is listening, both too busy doing heir own thing.

  
Goggles hasn’t stopped staring at him with a fiery curiosity in his eyes and a frown on his face.

* * *

The first of many problmes comes up when they try to make him actually get out of bed.

“Please take a bath,” Hood stresses, sounding a little impatient, but more concerned than a good hunter should, “an actual bath.”

“No,” Dream refuses after a few seconds, before he turns and wipes a crusty hand down Headband’s clothes.

“Dude, what the fuck!”

Goggles laughs at him, almost bent over with hysteria. Dream watches him, still wary of the looks he's been getting from the hunter when he thinks Dream isn't looking; the guy is as subtle as throwing a rick through a window. But he eventually smiles a bit as well. It's nice, seeing them like this.

Hood interrupts his teammate to give Dream the most convincing set of puppy dog eyes that he’s ever seen, ”please? The fountain is even clean again!”

Which- shouldn’t be possible, but that's pretty cool anyway. Maybe this primitive, non-lantern village has a water filter for liquids or something. No, that;s not right. Rolling out of bed, his knees hit the ground hard. Still, he doesn't stop until he's on his feet, where he sways hard and holds in laughter as he stumbles closer to the wall. Everything feels kind of foggy, which is weird to have in the desert.

Dream snaps his eyes away from Goggles as he pushes himself up on his toes to see out of the window, which is barely high enough. But when he stares out of the small window that’s bottom hovered just as his eye level, it’s true. The water is clear again, looking inviting and incredibly drinkable. Like it wasn't tinted pink with blood just yesterday.

“And that’s not _suspicious_ to any of you?” he tries, narrowing his eyes judgmentally at the clean water. How the absolute fuck did that even happen? Was it _magic_ water or something?

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” Hood chides, opening the door and looking back at Dream expectantly after everyone else has walked out. He takes one step away from the wall, loses his balance, and nearly concusses himself on the crafting table.

* * *

Dream, still cautious of the fountain being cleaned overnight but also very curious, pokes at the side of it with the toe of his shoe, ignoring the odd looks and the few laughs that he gets for it. After a few prods, he slaps the water lightly and jumps back, just in case.

“He’s like a cat,” a hunter snickers, which makes the group’s collective laughter worse. There's something forced and quiet about Goggles' laughter, which Dream chalks up to what happened last night and dismisses it from his mind. Last night was pretty great, as far as he's concerned; there were plenty of cats to keep him happy.

The water, when Dream finally shoves a spiteful hand in it to prove that he’s not scared of it, feels warm and thick as blood. All of the aloofness is sapped from his mind immediately, even though his body still feels lighter than air. He throws himself backwards and nearly trips, watching as the liquid slips from his fingers down to his wrist. Every time he blinks, it switches from water to blood to stars and back again. The fountain is fine- it's only the water that's touching him that's become a merry-go-round of substances. The changes almost make him dizzy, and he's more distracted by the glittering stars than he is worried about what he just submerged his entire hand in. The bell, still resting on the edge of the fountain, chimes slightly as a light breeze blows through the town.

"Hey, um, captive Dream thing, you good?"

“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself in a slight wonder-filled daze, blinking as he watches a star filled void slip off of his fingers, the drop practically glowing even in the mid-day sun. He throws his hand back in the water excitedly, fingers rubbing and then scratching at the soggy sandstone at the bottom until he can rip a small chunk of it out. It hurts to scratch at stone, but the curiosity is eating him alive as he blinks until it's water and then peers into the fountain. The stone under his bloody fingers is black and smooth when he pets it. He uses his free hand to rip at the frame of the fountain, ripping his other fingers bloody as he forces it to crack and splinter away until some sort of teal color peaks through. It's pretty, he realizes as he stares at it The fingers in the water hit something slick and hard, and when he checks, it’s some kind of hard black rock under his hand. He blinks and the water is stars. There's blood, then water, then a hard rock under his hand-

When Dream looks down at the edge of the fountain, there’s an eye flicking it’s gaze around. The pupil is slitted like a cat's, and the splashes of green are breathtaking enough for him to ignore the calling of his name. The eye watches him like it knows him, like it knows everything, and it's enchanting to stare at. It stares up at him impassibly in return, and he fights the urge to scream himself hoarse as something in the water grabs his hand. He begins to scurry back from it, feet kicking up dust. His hand, still suspended in starts, catches on something as it begins to come loose. It's almost like he's dragged it through a bundle of web that had a knife hidden it it, but it's not particularly sticky to the touch. When he finally pulls his hand back, something in his wrist- just past where it had been submerged- snaps. Like it hadn’t wanted to let him go; Dream almost wishes that he hadn't made it. But he wants away, he needs to get away. It feels like fire is dancing around the surely broken bone, but he doesn’t stop to asses the damage. Instead, he turns to the hunters, who have their bags packed and water bottled attached to them for easy access, and shatters the bottles that the hunters had taken from the fountain, watching it turn from blood to void to water before it finally settles on a mix of all three.

"Dream, what the hell-"

It almost looks like redstone, with how it glows against the sandstone floor. Redstone-

Redstone is toxic to most non-humans.

Particularly to Dream Walkers.

“That’s a portal,” he coughs out, the blood beginning to run down his mask again as his slick hands try to rip it off of his face. That's not what he's wanted to say, it obviously isn't a portal- who the hell would put a fountain over a portal-

"To where, Atlantis?" the snark is a light cover for all of the worry that he can see in Headband's eyes as the hunter abandons the mess of glass shards and rushes closer. He stays away when Dream scrambled back, likely remembering what happened the last time they touched, but he still hovers uncertainly.

“Is it the water? Are you allergic to it or something?” Hood asks, hands gripping Dream’s shoulders with small tremors. He's probably spooked- Dream sure as hell is, even if he's high on redstone at the moment. When had he even drank any of the infected water- he hadn't. But, he's had it in his mouth when he was washing the blood out of his mask. He'd gotten it in his eyes, his mouth- everywhere above his shoulders. But the hunters had been drinking it, Goggles had been drinking it, and he's half convinced that the hunter has some sort of spark in him. If he does, he's tripping hard too. Dream looks desperately at Goggles, hoping that the hunter is seeing the same thing he is, just like how they'd been stuck in a possible future the night before. Instead he’s met with confusion and a slight amount of frustration. Still, he peers over to where Dream had been clawing at the portal, furrowing his eyebrows when he looks back.

“Looks alright to me, maybe a bit of redstone, but villages use that to purify it and keep monsters away...”

The hunter freezes, looking over to his friends as Headband turns to stare at Dream with a growing smile. It's a nice smile, so he returs it shyly, knowing taht he's getting distracted from something important but finding it hard to care. He even throws in a little wave. Hood, who waves back slowly with a confused expression, is the last to get it, "what? What's happening?"

Headband, all sense of sympathy and concern gone, drops his hand and cackles, "Oh my god, he's trippin' _balls_ right now!"

After chiming in a quick reminder to watch his language, Hood also lets out a few soft snorts at Dream's expense. Laughter is contagious, and Dream starts doing his own wheezing version of a laugh, which only makes the other two laugh harder. Surprisingly enough, it's Goggles that doesn't laugh at this, instead looking more and more horrified by the second.

"Guys- guys," the other two turn to look at him with smiles and giggles still going strong, Dream following suit after a minute of staring at the shiny red water, "it's toxic to him."

"How toxic?" one of them- Dream is too bust staring into the sun to know who- asks suspiciously. A hand gently grabs his mask and makes him look down at his feet. Which is fine by him, really, because there's moving blobs of color down there now.

"It won't leave his system on it's own," Goggles, who looks very stressed, sighs while rubbing a hand down his face, "we've gotta get him to an actual cleric."

"You're kidding," Headband groans as he watches Dream clap his hands together to watch the dried red dust fall in a glittering cloud. He offers him a sparkling hand, just in case the hunter wants some of the dust as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that this isn't as nice as the other ones! I started college this week, and I spent a week away from my laptop before that, so this was a little rushed! But it's out now, and I'll likely go back and fix it up later! Please let me know if you have any questions, or if I messed something up! <3


	6. Swallow Me Whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3!!!

Hood sighs, sounding like he’s already nearing the end of his patience and the end of the rope, which is tied to only one of Dream’s wrists after he’d face-planted and had been unable to catch himself. Well, he hadn’t actually tried- hadn’t even had the time to process what was happening before he hit the sandy ground face first. The hunters- after the initial laughter from Goggles and Headband and the concern from Hood- had been quick to pull him up again while he whined at the throbbing pain his face was experiencing. His nose hadn’t bled again, which was a plus, but his mask had been slammed into his face and it hurt enough that for a second he was worried his face would be flat if he ever got the mask off. So, now he has two hands. That being said, having two hands hasn’t really affected his stumbling all that much. If anything, he’s stumbling more- but he’s been enjoying the range of movement. 

Or he had been, until one of his swinging hands had almost hit Goggles in the stomach and he’d been threatened with the rope again. Now he keeps them in front of himself, wringing his fingers nervously each time he gets the urge to swing his hands again. Dream, who hasn't been liked for some reason or other for as long as he can remember, wants these hunters to like him so badly. The threat of tying his hands again doesn't seem to fall into that 'we love you' category, so he’s making sure they won’t have any reason to do it- any reason to dislike him more than they already do. Only sometimes though; he's been accidentally amusing the group since he walked into a mural a few hours ago.

Anyway, tied hands would probably make it harder to escape, which he should really be focusing on. Who cares if a few hunters, who are technically being paid to kill him but then got too curious, don’t like him?

_He_ does, unfortunately.

But not enough to just be dragged into whatever they want to do to him.

“Dream-”

“No,” he whines, stumbling harshly to the right until Headband guides him back to the center with a hand on his shoulder and a sigh. To be fair, Dream’s been unintentionally and intentionally throwing his weight around to slow down their progress for a few minutes- which, when he thinks about it, is probably just making it harder to like him. But if they liked him at all, they wouldn’t try to make him go to another village with them. The posters with his reward are probably still decorating every blank space available. Besides, what’s to say that it won’t be even worse than this one? Nothing is guaranteed when it comes to other villages and their new customs. What are they going to do when it's suddenly illegal to cover your face?

To Dream's pleasant surprise, they aren’t leaving this village just yet- something about this being a mystery, and Hood had looked so excited when he’d said it that even Goggles had agreed to stay for a little longer-, but the second they do it means bad things for him- not that this village is a _good_ thing. Still, he wants to stay here. If Dream thinks about it too hard, his head aches; this is the most relaxed he’s felt for as long as he can remember, yeah, but he knows he can’t stay like this. He can’t stay in a place that feels so wrong with people who took a job to kill him. He’s drugged, and he can’t stay like this without something bad happening. He’s high and he knows it- Dream has seen what this can do to someone like him. Redstone is like a party drug in some ways, but it won’t leave his system on it’s own- and it’s toxic for his kind in the same way that puffer fish is for sparkless people. Something about a powder that’s strictly scientific clashing with the natural magic reserves in sparks, he thinks. At any rate, it’s dangerous and he can’t do anything about it. He’s stuck like this until he finds a cure for it- if there even is one that doesn’t involve expensive and experimental magical treatments, which can’t even be trusted to not clash with his magic and make everything worse for him.

Caught in his thoughts and cursing what limited knowledge he has on this, he stumbles into Headband again and almost takes them both to the ground when he flails at the unexpected contact. Luckily, he catches Dream by the elbows before they both go down- even if it’s just barely. There’s a potted cactus next to a doorway that his foot nudges, and he watches in fascination as the pot wobbles uncertainly before righting itself. Dream, focus lost, stretches his leg out to nudge the pot again before he feels Headband starting to drag him back up. Held in the hunter’s arms and basically halfway on the ground, Dream wiggles a little bit as he shimmies his way up to his feet. He giggles as he reminds himself of a bear scratching it's back, wiggling a little harder. With his back pressed against the hunter, he can not only hear the exasperated sigh, but he can feel it vibrate through him. Right, they were doing things- things that he can't really remember, but he's sure they were important anyway. Guilt floods him and Dream forcefully shoves himself up and away with a small grunt of effort and a lot of dizzy swaying. Hands go to steady him, but he bats them away, being sure not to touch any skin. The hunter, as most would if something like Dream dared to touch them, looks mildly offended before he just huffs a sarcastic laugh as Dream, lost for words, touches his own skin.

“No, no- I get it. I’m too _gross_ for you,” Headband jokes, lightly shoving Dream’s shoulder and looking ready to catch him when he stumbles with the motion. Dream laughs at him before continuing to walk and stare at anything that catches his interest, sometimes even pointing things out to the hunter beside him, who only offers funny commentary and joking opinions. For such an interesting village, almost nothing looks to be out of the ordinary. 

After a few minutes of boring walking, Dream begins to whine to the other two hunters who are slightly ahead of him and Headband. Well, more to Hood than to Goggles; Goggles has been sighing a lot. Like, even more than usual. Hood is actually trying to engage him a little bit, even though Dream himself knows that he has the attention span of a small child at a college lecture. It’s really nice, up until Hood slows down to be at his side and talk to him.

“So, we have to go see a Cleric for both of you now,” Hood hums with a small laugh as he gestures up to Goggles and then to Dream. Dream, who is almost positive that nothing good will come of it, huffs.

“No.”

“What do you mean no, this really isn’t up for discussion.”

Hood shoots a look at his hand pointedly, and then just gestures to all of him like it explains everything; it does. Having nothing better to combat that with, Dream just repeats himself.

“No.”

“Why don’t you want to go to the cleric, you muffin? They’ll make you feel better, don’t you _want_ to feel better-”

“Bad, dude, you sound like you’re trying to give a three year old his yearly potion shots.”

“Well, he’s acting like a child! He was fine a few hours ago, a little sleepy, but fine! Why is he like this now?”

Dream forces his face to mimic Hood’s stressed out expression before he bursts out in hoarse giggles at the look on the hunter’s face when he catches Dream in the act. For someone who’s supposed to be menacing, his face sure can pull out a pout. Goggles, who’s been fielding these kinds of questions left and right for more than a few hours, sighs deeply from the front of their lumpy triangle.

“Because the redstone is in his bloodstream- moving with his heart rate.”

Dream stumbles, and Headband barely catches him this time. Outside of the house they’re walking past, there’s a lily of the valley in a pot, freshly watered and perfectly healthy. He blinks, and it’s turned rotten and dry.

Spinning around too fast for Dream to catch it, Hood’s hands latch onto Goggles’ shoulders. Panic is written across his face as he stares at Dream and then back at his friend.

“Oh- why didn’t you tell me? You didn’t even say anything when I asked to stay another day-”

Headband, who slings an arm around Dream’s shoulders to keep him from wandering off unnoticed, chimes in with his own disbelief.

“You can’t be serious-”

“He’s been getting steadily more high since yesterday,” Goggles admits, gesturing over to where Dream is trying to just stand upright. Hood, who’s been looking worried and been thinking for a while, brightens considerably, if a little anxiously.

“But redstone is also used to make potions stronger! And he’s not as,” the hunter pauses sheepishly, probably remembering what had happened in the cave, ”banged up as he was before, so the fountain was some kind of huge potion.”

“Exactly,” Goggles says as he helps Headband stop Dream from landing on his face, “so it can’t kill him, but it’s trying to.”

"Will it eventually leave his system on it's own, if it's technically healing him?"

Goggles, the unsympathetic bitch, just shrugs, "I don't know, I haven't studied this kind of thing before. He's not even got the decency to be a normal monster, I'll bet everything is different for him."

Tearing his eyes away from the impossible flower, Dream looks ahead again; they’re almost back in the center of town, where the hunters are going to fill their water bottles up again because the redstone doesn’t affect them. Dream doesn’t approve of it, still very wary of Goggles and his possible spark; having two bumbling idiots would drag them down even more. But he’d drank the water the other day, and he’d been fine. And if he’s not in a few hours, at the very least Dream will have some entertainment. Still talking about the wonders of a potion fountain, the other two who aren’t keeping him upright take out their flanks and begin walking over to the fountain to fill them.

“Why are things always trying to kill you, huh? What’s up with that?” Headband asks, ducking his head so he can see Dream’s mask as if he can see his eyes through it. It’s almost like an adult checking in on a child, which makes him frown slightly. His frown only deepens when he stares past Headbands too-close face. His throat is burning again.

The fountain in the middle of the town is void, blood, and water. The frame of it doesn’t have a single crack, and he knows he’s not the only one who sees that as Hood and Goggles hesitate mere feet away. They shoot a look back at him, at his still roughed-up hand that hadn’t touched the water. There’s still red dust caked under his fingernails, vibrant and shimmery and haunting. Shaking his head, he looks away from his hands and back to the other two. Dream blinks, and the fountain doesn’t change from blood to water like it should- instead, it alternates between blood and void. The frame doesn’t shift and shatter to become what it was not even a full day ago, even if the fountain is now water-less.

“There’s something in this village,” he hums distractedly as he turns away and peers into the closest window. Headband stops trying to meet his eyes- an impossible task because of the mask- and leans back to watch the other hunters as they walk back with empty bottles. A cobweb clings to the previously empty window frame. Once again, when he blinks it’s still there, and even bigger.

“What, another potion factory?” Headband asks distractedly as he leads them closer to the others. The others, who motion them closer, but don’t call out; their mouths are moving, and Goggles looks annoyed, but Dream can’t hear them.

His throat itches, and Dream brings up a hand to scratch at it.

"Something's up with this town," Hood says, like Dream hasn't been saying it almost every minute of the day. As they all step closer to meet up, confused detective faces on, the ground under them caves in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was so short!!! It's more of a filler chapter than anything else, and I promise that the next one will be longer! Please tell me if there's something I need to fix! <3


	7. Too Familiar to Walk Away From

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter answers some of the questions I've been getting, as it's STRONGLY HINTED at what's going on!

The fall is as short as it is jarring.

Dream lands heavily on his feet in the middle of a dusty library that has as many cobwebs as it does books. Well, landing on his feet is one way of putting it; technically, he landed on his feet, almost fell over, cracked his head on a bookshelf hard enough to make his ears ring, and then barely remained standing with the help of that same bookshelf. It still counts, even though his head pounds with his heartbeat and if he moves too fast things get blurry and he has to take a second to let his vision clear up again. The blurry thing is almost cool, like he’s not really there at all, but he has to move his pounding head side to side to get it. In the end, it’s not really worth it.

The hunters all hit the ground with varying degrees of a successful landing, with Hood not sticking the landing at all and falling backwards onto the stone brick floor and the other two almost landing on each other. They land on their feet, but end up in a sprawling heap anyway. Dream tries to laugh at the sight- he can feel the sound bubbling up in his throat- but nothing comes out. His dusty fingers slowly come up to tap on the side of his neck, like they’re searching for a switch to turn his voice back on. He tries to speak again, and his fingers catch vibrations, but his ears don’t hear it.

But he can hear the others just fine. He tries to choke out a warning, one more ‘something’s wrong’ that they can ignore and face the consequences of, but he can’t.

“What the _hell_ ,” Goggles, who’s missed the entire Dream-can’t-talk thing with everyone else, shrieks as he frantically waves his hand in the air; there’s a piece of web stuck to it, and it’s hilarious to witness. Especially when Dream realizes that there’s no spider attached to it; he doesn't like spiders either, as the ones that he's dealt with have been almost half his height and that's terrifying to deal with. But the web stuck to the hunter's hand is so small that DReam can hardly see it, which makes him look like he trying to slap the air. The laughter attempts to wheeze out of his throat, which is already burning because of all of the magic in the air. It doesn't make a sound.

“We’re in a stronghold, I think,” Hood offers as he peers at the books on the shelves and ignores his screaming friend with an ease that must come with lots of practice. Some of the books glisten with enchantments, which Dream stares at blankly. Something about this kind of place is familiar; the bookshelves touching the ceiling and the silence and the unexplainable fear almost hurts his head. It's a library- Dream is pretty sure that he likes reading.

“Dude, this place has carpet and arching doorways. Strongholds don’t even have functioning _doors_ most of the time.”

Above him, the candles on the chandelier flicker and draw his attention in a matter of seconds. The flames are a pretty blue, something he’s seen before but is still entranced by all the same. How often is it that someone gets to see soul sand candles, when only Dream Walkers have access to the Hell dimension to get it? His eyes begin to burn from dryness as he stares at the flames, distracting in all of the best ways as they shimmer and flicker like there’s an invisible breeze. Just in case, Dream glances around, but there’s nothing.

Not even a hole in the ceiling that they fell through.

Content that the candles will keep burning for now, he begins to actually look around. The hunters are all clumped together a few feet away, glancing around with such obvious suspicion on their faces that Dream tries to laugh again before remembering that he can’t. Almost to make it up to him, his smile stretches extra wide. The smile only grows when he notices that no one is holding the end of his rope-

He’s free to wander around without their supervision.

Being careful not to scuff his feet too much on the floor, Dream silently hops from rug to rug before he stumbles around the corner of a bookshelf and is officially out of sight of his supervisors. Distantly, he can hear them when they realize he’s gone- the loud arguing is a dead giveaway and absolutely hilarious. Paying them no mind, Dream slowly takes in his new surroundings with curiosity to rival a child’s. His dusty hands cling to the edges of shelves as he gets on his toes to see what’s on a high shelf, leaving fingerprints on the even dustier shelves. The books hold no dust at all, and are covered in such vibrantly colored covers, lined neatly up on the shelves with no particular pattern to be found. Some of them, he warily notes as he reaches for them, shine with enchantment. A lot of them do, actually. His fingers close around the book’s spine, which is a soft lapiz blue with gold embroidery.

The others are so loud in this amplified space with high ceilings- maybe that’s why, as his fingers close sound the book’s spine, the sudden silence feels like a punch to the chest. Whipping his head around and peering through the gaps in the shelves, he sees that they’re still there, and if he focuses enough he can feel their voices vibrate through the space. But he can’t hear them. Feeling a little terrified, Dream fully pulls the book from the shelf and feels his heart leap into his throat as he sees the title.

Dream knows two languages: the one he was born learning, common, and the one that The Dream uses in all of their writings, something so encrypted and nonsensical that you would have to have been a part of the group to know.

This isn’t common.

And Dream can read it.

Somewhere, a something gurgles and croaks. It’s nice to hear something, Dream notes distractedly as he stares at the cover even harder.

Enchanted, his fingers trace the swirling letters of the script- it’s more like a picture than anything else, and he’d almost forgotten how pretty it was. How pretty it _is_ \- and how much he missed it. Dream blinks down at it dumbly, fingers still following the delicate swirls, and he decides that he’s taking it with him. Another- or maybe the same, Dream can't really tell- thing calls out again, sounding further away this time.

The book feels heavy, but he doesn't let it go.

Then, it’s taken gently from his hands and promptly dropped two seconds later with a short shriek that he can hear now. Feeling childish, Dream’s hands dart up to cover his ears from the noise as he whines slightly. It comes from high in his throat, and even that sounds so scratchy that Headband and Goggles stop arguing to look over at him. Dream's just surprised that he's able to make any noise at all, even a little pleased that he can. 

“It’s the book,” Hood points an accusing finger down at where it’s laying haphazardly on the floor, “he couldn’t hear us.”

Beside the dropped book, Dream notes with some excitement, are more shimmering books. Why they’re on the floor, he has no idea, but he’s too excited too really question it right now. As he leans down to look at them, a hand twists itself into his hood and pulls him back up. He goes without a fight, though he does frown and make grabby fingers towards the pile that cause whoever is holding him back to sigh.

“Where’s the leash?”

Dream, who’d ditched the rope the second he could and had thrown it on top of a bookshelf, shrugs innocently and kicks at the dusty blue rug on the ground.

“I’ve got more,” Goggles sighs, moving to take his pack off.

Dream waves his hands frantically- he hates the rope, he needs his hands- goes to protest, and chokes so obviously that even Headband, who’d been allowed to look at the books on the floor, looks up. Once again, his fingers come up to tap at his neck questioningly as he frowns and blinks blankly.

His throat hurts.

Taking pity on him, Hood offers a completely gloved hand for Dream to hold, which he latches onto immediately. The hunters can’t hate him, not if they’re letting him hold their hands. Feeling a little giddy, Dream starts up a pattern of squeezing and tapping. When Hood slowly begins to do it back, it takes everything Dream has in him not to start swinging their hands giddily. It’s like a secret code, and the thought makes his smile stretch a little wider as he adds more taps to the pattern. His hand is very occupied and therefore kept out of trouble; however, he still has a free hand, which he takes to dragging across the spines of books as he walks past. He’s careful to keep it to the lower shelves, where he knows the less dangerous books usually are.

_Usually_.

This is proven to not always be true when his fingers get shocked so hard that his whole body jerks with the current, and he very nearly falls over before Goggles is able to catch him. Seconds later, Headband is entwining his fingers with the ones on Dream’s freshly-shocked hand. He jerks his hand away at the slight sting of something touching what feels like raw skin, and Headband lets go at the motion and gives him some space. Just so the hunter doesn't think Dream hates him or something, he shakes his hand out. Thankfully, the hunter gets it almost immediately, looking a bit concerned.

“Just- just don’t touch anything then, okay man?”

Making no promises, Dream nods enthusiastically before he reaches for another book and promptly gets dragged back by the hand in Hood’s grip.

* * *

Eventually, they have to leave the library through the only exit there is; the ceiling, despite having been where they fell through, is perfectly intact, with the blue-fire chandelier hanging from it. The candles are still lit on the chandelier, just as they were when he first saw them, but Dream is pretty sure that it’s just a magic one, and that someone isn’t here. Still, he can’t help but long for the blue fire as he’s led from the room. The hunters are clearly spooked by the intact ceiling, which Dream isn't sure he gets, but is accepting anyway.

The hallway they walk into is covered in tapestries and things that look like windows with stunning views. Headband lets out a loud cheer that echoes against the stone and runs for the closest one. He doesn’t waste any time as he presses the heels of his hands against the small ledge and shoves up harshly. Dream watches him for only a few seconds before he turns his attention to the ornate rug that’s sprawled out all the way down the hallway- he’s pretty sure that there’s nothing behind those windows, anyway. The rug also has gold woven into it, which flakes off when he scuffs his feet against it. The gold is real; the window, just as he suspected, is not.

“What the hell?” Headband asks, pressing his hands to the solid wall that was behind the window, “it’s a _wall_.”

“Sapnap, we’re _underground_ ,” Goggles sighs, though he too looks slightly disappointed that the impossible window wasn’t possible after all. The hunter steps away from the wall and rejoins the group, looking confused and disappointed. Dream, who’s hand feels a little better now, slowly reaches for his hand and locks their fingers together before he offers a squeeze of comfort and a smile.

“You’re cute when you aren’t being a pain in the ass,” Headband notes with a small smile, completely ignoring Hood’s reprimands for his language. Dream squeezes his hand so hard that the hunter winces and smiles brightly at him before he starts walking again, towing the two hunters behind him.

“This is spooky,” Hood mutters, tightening his grip on Dream’s hand when Dream almost trips over his own two feet. Nodding his head in agreement makes him dizzy, but he does it anyway.

“Yeah, there hasn’t been a single monster,” Goggles adds, his hand tightly wrapped around his weapon like he expects one to pop out any second.

“You interested?” Headband teases before he falls into laughter at his own joke. Despite not getting it, Dream dissolves into cackling laughter that nearly makes him dizzy.

“That doesn’t even make any _sense_ -”

“Oh, come on- a _single_ monster?” Accompanied by a few mocking kissy faces, the joke makes a lot more sense. Dream watches as Goggles turns away with a red face and a very solid ‘no’.

Eventually, they come across another doorway.

This one leads them into a room only a little smaller than the library- and it’s only then that everything kind of goes from foggy but distinguishable to blurry shapes and colors. There’s more carpet in this room, a dusty white that covers only a few areas of the floor, like it's rotted away despite the magic. It smells so strongly of magic in the room that Dream has to squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head before he can see even a little bit better. The world quickly blurs again. Dream, left on his own as Hood and Headband let go, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of what looks like it could be a desk. Something brushes his face, and when he opens his eyes he clearly sees a white lily in perfect health sitting beside an open book. The pages are torn out raggedly, but he can tell from what little is left that it’s certainly not written in common. He's certain that nothing here is, now. Something runs from the corner of his eye, and Dream whips around to find nothing there but one of the hunters and a bookshelf at the end of the room. Dream slowly rights himself and lets his curious fingers pet the waxy petals of the lily, which crumbles and turns to dust under his feather-light touch. 

Calm has overcome his senses now, making his tense muscles relax so quickly that he drops first onto the chair and then slides off and onto the floor. The hunters are still exploring the room, not paying him any attention and likely assuming that they don’t need to watch him; the room is open, after all, so there’s nothing for them to lose him behind this time. Still, Dream thinks as he pets the carpet under his hands, he probably needs their help right now. Or maybe not- he can’t really feel any alarm, so he’s pretty sure that he’s good for now. But he’s on the floor, isn’t he? He should get up, right?

The ceiling is painted with vivid detail, which his blurry vision parts around and focuses on with such conviction that the pictures almost seem to jump out at him. They seem to pulse with his heartbeat, drowning everything else out and demanding his attention, which is fleeting at best. Still, Dream watches, enthralled by the sight.

Off to the side, one of the hunters pulls a book from the shelves- he doesn’t see it, but he knows that it’s happened, somehow.

The pictures above him move rapidly in a spinning motion, likely enchanted to do so, so it’s hard to see what’s happening at first. There’s someone in white, with a veil over their face and their body covered with a long robe, and there’s someone who’s dressed plainly beside them, who’s hunched over like they’re in pain. Swirls of purple surround them, and Dream can almost hear them screaming out as he watches their knees buckle. 

The one in white does nothing but watch, hands folded primly as they seem to radiate indifference.

Dream’s vision is blurring again, he notes as he stares up at the ceiling.

His vision is blurring, but even a fool would be able to see the screaming person’s hands tearing at their throat as they shake on the floor. The screaming turns into something that he can’t make out- something unintelligible and familiar enough that he relaxes at the sound, even when he knows that he shouldn’t. He's heard it before, he thinks, and the simple fact that he'll put the puzzle together eventually brings him a little bit of happiness. Dream likes puzzles- likes to feel smart.

The book still hasn’t been placed back on the shelf. 

Dream blinks, and he’s looking into an End Citizen’s eyes, painted in vivid detail, as the person's body stretches and their jaw cracks open like a snake’s before reforming into a human’s face. There’s something he’s missing, Dream decides as his fingers tap at the carpet without rhythm. Something that’s probably important, that he should be focusing on finding out. The ceiling continues to swirl above him as the warbled screaming gets quieter and quieter. A sword is thrust through the chest of the one with purple eyes, who’s face is now covered by a white blob that blurs even further as Dream stares at it. Their skin turns black as they shrieks, growing taller and taller as soon as the one who stabbed them is gone.

When he blinks again, and an End Citizen- a Dream Snatcher- is looking down at him, a lot closer than the ceiling should be. If he were to stand up now, he would hit his head.

Dream makes bleary eye contact, and is thrown from his body with a force so strong that it can't be called an accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment if you have any questions! <3


	8. I Am Not Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for this being so late, guys! I had writers block,,,, <3

Maybe being thrown from his body isn’t an accurate description, really; it’s more like his body’s been invaded, and he’s been kicked to the corner of his own head- kind of like when he’d separated himself from the possible futures when Hood had touched him in that cave. He’s got a front row seat to everything around him again, but this time he’s finding it hard to focus on either side- his head is too foggy and heavy to take in much of anything. It’s all conflicting images and clashing sounds that overlap and fight for his limited attention span. The feeling of missing something important is the only thing keeping him from just watching in awe. Even then, Dream’s vision is blurry enough that the two sides are beginning to blend together in front of him, and he’s finding it hard to see that as a problem. The Dream Snatcher's warble echoes in his mind-body's mind, still with him even here.

Holy shit- Dream's body has been snatched. By a Dream Snatcher.

In his mind, Dream laughs at the irony of it, floating and observing everything without a care in the world. He knows that he should care- this feels like something important and _wrong_ \- but he isn't anything but curious and dizzy. The Snatcher's confusion at being so bleary and slow only fuels it's irritation as it begins fighting him, thrashing around in his head. Dream ignores it after a few seconds and looks back at what's happening outside of his head.

He can see Goggles leaning over him with an odd look of horror on his face, but it blends into a pretty mass of star-filled void if he looks away slightly. Sensations from both sides overlap and intertwine; he’s cold and too hot at the same time that he’s floating and flat on his back. It’s disorienting, to say the least, and Dream shuts his eyes against it. It doesn't do anything, he can't control his body right now, but the comfort of doing it even in his mind is helpful.

Dream's real eyes stare at the ceiling above him, not blinking at all. It's odd to feel his eyes get dry while he's blinking, but Dream shoves the feeling down and tries his best to pay attention. The dual feelings are confusing to him, conflicting and hard to tell apart at the same time.

Hands are on his shoulders, and nothing is under his feet as he floats there.

His throat burns in a familiar way that he’s never felt before, but that the Dream Snatcher his mind’s currently stuck to calms at. It moves inside of him slowly now, but it doesn’t do much of anything except watch the starry side of his vision with feelings of anger and paranoia and resentment. Dream can't see this as a problem, even if he thinks that the sky is beautiful and he doesn't understand why the Dream Snatcher doesn't; the difference of opinion gives him nothing to worry about, so he doesn't think too hard about it. He's just happy to have the Snatcher acting calmer, rather than having it throwing itself at the walls of his mind.

Then, the Dream Snatcher separates half of its mind-body from him, becoming nearly transparent, and it sinks it’s sharp fingers into the fabric of his sleeve and _tugs_. Dream is distracted by it's coal dust skin and it's thin body for a few seconds before he stares down at where they're connected. It sticks out of his chest awkwardly, but it's not painful- it doesn't even weigh anything. It's just there.

Dream waves at it.

The Dream Snatcher screams in his face.

The fingers tug at his sleeve harshly again and Dream moves a few inches with it, which he hadn’t expected to happen at all. But slowly, he’s being tugged further and further out of the hunters’ world and closer to the rock in the starry sky. His arms stretch out in front of him and try to touch the Snatcher, but they go straight through him no matter how many times he tries. He frown at it; it's skin looks like it would be powder-soft, and Dream's never touched one before.

He wants to know what it feels like.

When Dream looks at his hands like he'll be able to make them not go through the Dream Snatcher, his fingers blend in with the black of his gloves. His body doesn't move in the real world, but he's being tugged along in his mind as he stares at his fingertips in confusion. They're dark like ink, but not shimmery like liquid. It reminds him of coal dust, almost, but when he goes to wipe it on his sleeve none of it comes off. His fingers are the same color at the Dream Snatchers', Dream realizes dimly before he runs his fingers over each other in wonder. They feel softer, like old leather, and they feel like liquid when he runs them down his own neck.

“Dream Snatcher!”

The tugging stops, suddenly, and Dream's body jerks to a halt. His fingers leave his neck in confusion; when he looks down, only his leg is still in the world with the Hunters. He's hit with a feeling of longing, and he realizes that he wants to go back and be with them.

"I like the sky," Dream admits in a rough whisper that sounds more like a Dream Snatcher than anything else, "but I don't wanna go."

It sounds underwater to his own ears, but the fingers in his sleeve slacken slightly in surprise, and Dream takes the opportunity to stumble back into his own body fully with a gasp and a cough. The Dream Snatcher, still connected to him, is dragged along. He can't move, and he's not alone in his mind, but he's no longer being pulled into an endless sky with it. Some part of his mind mourns the loss of such a pretty view, and the other feels snappish like a rabid wolf at the idea of missing something so horrible.

Something in his chest is clawing to get out, and Dream can blearily feel it as the Dream Snatcher from earlier. It's angry, very angry, and it wants to leave him. That must have been the part of him that hated the sky, he thinks as his mind whirls and his chest aches. At the moment, he and the Dream Snatcher are the same person. It’s own inky fingers are scratching at the oddly colored stone to his left and the carpet to his right. Someone is yelling, and it’s hurting his ears at the same time that it makes something in him fill with aggression.

“Dream Snatcher, he’s a Dream Snatcher! Dream Snatcher, Dream Snatcher, Dream-”

Something fractures and then floods out of him, and Dream takes in shuddering gasps as his fingers clench in the carpet on either side of him. Black sludge threatens to choke him as it slides around behind his clenched teeth like liquid silk. Dream wants this body to die, for daring to be called something so much better, for being so weak, for making it without losing it's mind-

His vision isn’t split anymore, it's morphed into something that's just his. The Dream Snatcher rips itself from his body and teleports away in a flash. It leaves all of it's emotions when it goes, and they threaten to flood out of him as Dream grits his teeth and tries to sit up.

The hunters scream at the sudden appearance and disappearance of the monster, and something that longs for silence in his mind snaps at it viciously.

Dream sits straight up and lunges at the closest person, teeth bared like he’s going to rip into their throat- and he’s horrified to realize that he wants to. Of course he doesn’t really want to, he’d never attack someone with the intent to kill unless he had to, but there’s something ugly in his chest that screams that he’s got to do it now. That something that makes his fingers twitch eagerly and his mouth form into a snarl with gritted teeth is the same one that fears the open sky. His fingers are soft and black, and they tremble without his permission.

Also without his permission, his hands close around someone’s neck with the intent to kill- to silence forever. The screaming around him gets louder, and the eyes on him make his hackles stand up taller in aggression. He doesn't want anyone to fucking look at him, to touch him or talk to him or see him at all.

(Dream doesn't want to do this-)

“Dream- Dream, stop!”

Hands grip him tightly and throw him off of the person under him with enough force that he goes skidding across the floor. In seconds, he’s up on his feet and throwing himself back at the person on the floor with a coordination that he didn’t possess only a few minutes ago. His teeth are still bared, and his blood feels like it's boiling in his veins as he charges again. Hands catch him by his waist and swing him into a desk, sending it clattering to the ground with him on top of it. The flower pot with a white lily in it shatters against the ground, but he has tunnel vision for the person on the floor. Dream doesn’t stay down for more than a few seconds. He fights to get back, finally flinging himself back at the person on the floor before someone stops him. His bare fingers claw at someone’s neck savagely, and he tries to scream at whoever is under him but nothing comes out.

(Why is he doing this?)

Dream’s hands stay wrapped around the throat as he coughs harshly, and blood comes out of his ruined throat and hits the stone next to Hood’s head in a dark splatter that glitters with the red stone still in his body. Hood, who’s looking at him with so much fear, who’s hand is within reach of his sword but not wrapped around it. It’s like time has slowed around him as fingers clench in his shirt again to tug him off. That’s right, Dream remembers as he stares down at the hunter blankly, Hood doesn't hurt people. Why is he on top of the hunter, fingers still threatening to cut off the man’s air, if nothing is wrong?

(Why? Why why why why why-)

His soft fingers go slack as he stares into the hunter's eyes and realizes that he doesn't want to hurt him.

It’s enough to knock him back into his right mind, and he doesn’t fight the desperate shove that Headband gives him to get him off of his friend. This time, Dream stays down; he’s not sure where he got the energy to even get up the last time, or why he even wanted to. His ribs creak in his chest, and Dream winces at the pain of them hitting the desk and then the floor. Trying to think, Dream stays on his side and coughs into his hands with his eyes clenched shut. He croaks out a groan, which tears through his throat with so much pain that he cuts it off with a sharp gasp and has to shift and spit out blood. His eyes open slowly and his vision swims in front of him. Goggles, who’s standing over him now, shares the same expression as Hood had when Dream’s fingers had closed around his throat. Despite this, the man drops to his knees next to Dream and yanks his hand up to his face. The hunter drops it almost immediately before he clutches his fingers around Dream’s wrist and brings it back to his face.

From his fingertips to the middles of his palm is a dark grey, which is darker at his fingers. Goggles flicks his eyes over to Dream’s face, grip tightening further- it hurts, but he knows the hunter doesn’t mean for it to.

“What was that?” he asks in a whisper, clearly looking for a response even though Dream can’t form a word in his throat. When he tries to croak out a response anyway, he can’t; the pain of even trying to makes him reach up to cradle his own neck, like he’ll be able to sooth it from the outside. Dream’s other hand, having been released by Goggles, reaches for Hood’s and is knocked away by Headband, who looks sick and furious and scared.

“Dude- stay over there.”

Regret, so much regret fills him as he lays there and watches Hood slowly sway to his feet with Headband’s help. Goggles is behind him with a fist in the back of his shirt to hold him in case he tries to do something, but Dream doesn’t fight against him- doesn't even take a breath as he watches Hood almost hit the ground again before Headband catches him.

Hood turns and looks at him, and Dream forces himself to look away even though he knows that no one can see his face. He shuffles against the ground, and curls so that his mask is pressed into it like it can hide him from everyone’s searching eyes. Gods, he'd tried to _kill_ one of them- there's no way that they won't retaliate in some way now. Dream is fucked, and he doesn't even know why he wanted to kill someone so badly, or why he wanted his own body to die. The Dream Snatcher flashes through his frantic thoughts, but Dream only considers it for a few seconds; it doesn't matter what it thought when it was inside his mind- not when he's attacked the one hunter who really seemed nice all the time. Shuffling to hide even more, Dream bites at his fist and lets the pain of it ground him to the moment. It doesn't work, he's still high, but there's not a lot that he can do about that. The pain of it does make his gasp slightly.

It almost sounds like he's crying- his eyes are wet, at least. Dream lets out a rattling breath and curls his fingers into his palms.

Not having it, Hood stumbles over to him with Headbands’ footsteps close behind his much less coordinated ones. A hand settles on his shoulder and gently shakes him like it’s trying to wake him up. Dream shuffles up into it slightly, but doesn't move otherwise.

“It was an accident, right? I’m fine- we’re all going to be fine,” Hood soothes as he stops crouching and just sits down. His voice is scratchy, likely a product of Dream forcing his full weight on the man’s neck more than once, but there’s something nice in it that wasn’t lost to the pain of being choked.

"It's okay, Dream."

He doesn't remember giving them his name ever, but hearing them say it soothes him enough for him to not mind. They probably just shortened it from 'Dream Snatcher', which is plastered across his bounty poster in big letters- there's nothing that they know that he hasn't told them.

Dream allows himself to get pulled up by Headband, who’s eyes drop to his hands as the color continues to slowly fade from his skin.

“We’ve got to do something about this,” he says; Dream can’t tell what the man is talking about specifically, but he gives a slow nod anyway. His fingers aren't as soft as they were, and Dream finds that he could care less about it now.

Hood gently takes his hand, like it wasn’t just wrapped around his throat, and squeezes it gently before tugging him to his feet with a smile.

* * *

The atmosphere of the group is low after that, but at least they still have some of the diluted health potion for Bad, who’s still holding his hand like Dream hadn’t tried to literally rip his head off only a few minutes ago. He's stupidly grateful for the contact, even if he wants to shy away from it so he doesn't hurt anyone else.

“It wasn’t him,” Goggles says eventually as they walk down a hallway.

Headband, who's walking next to Goggles in front of him and Hood, tenses.

“Pretty sure I saw him choking Bad out, unless I’m crazy,” he says lowly with a glance at Dream. Not knowing what else to do, he waves back softly with a cautious smile. 

The hunter looks away from him with a neutral expression forced on his face, and Dream’s fingers curl into his palm before he lowers his hand altogether. Almost to make up for it, Hood starts up another squeezing-tapping pattern with their intertwined hands. Distracted and delighted by it, Dream almost loses focus altogether before the two hunters in front of him begin to whisper to each other.

“He didn’t mean it, Sapnap,” Goggles says quietly as he leans closer to his friend. Headband is quiet for a little before his shoulders drop as he sighs tiredly, like the stress is being sucked from his body.

“I know- I _know_ that he wouldn’t hurt Bad on purpose, but-”

The air is heavy as Headband glances back to Dream, who tries to not make it obvious that he’s listening in. Not that it’s hard to forget what he’s doing; all he has to do is look at something else and _bam_ , done. But this feels important; if he doesn't know how they feel about him, he's not safe. Dream's not sure that if he touched their skin and saw the future he'd survive very long in a lot of them. And while he's no stranger to death, something about it being the hunters who kill him makes him feel almost sad.

“How much of his poster do you think is true?”

“He wasn’t going to _eat_ Bad-”

“You don’t know that-”

“I don’t, but look at him, Sapnap-”

The conversation ends when Headband looks back at him again. Without thinking about it giving his eavesdropping away, Dream waves again and hopes that the hunter has forgiven him enough to not just turn away like the last time.

This time, the hunter waves back before turning away, and Dream smiles to himself slightly.

“Hey, do you want to hear how we met?”

The question makes him twitch as it breaks the silence in the group, and he nods enthusiastically with a smile and gives Hood’s hand a few rapid taps. He can almost hear the smile that it gets him as the hunter taps back just as rapidly. Goggles and Headband are the ones listening in now, but the morale of the entire group has been lifted by just one question, and Dream is thankful for it.

“Okay, so, once upon a time-”

Goggles and Headband groan dramatically at the opening, both rolling their heads back like they can’t believe it.

“What? It’s like a fairy tale,” Hood defends with laughter in his tone.

“I beat someone up for you, how is that a fairy tale-”

“Because,” Hood interrupts, “you were my hero.”

And that’s all there is to it, apparently. Any protests stop after that, and Dream wheezes painfully at the reaction; it's still soundless, but Hood takes not of it and pats his back reassuringly.

Goggles laughs at whatever expression is on Headband’s face, but he lets Hood continue with a wave of his hand and one last snicker at his friend’s expense.

“I hate you both,” Headband groans with a smile in his voice. Dream wonders at how he can lie so easily before he’s sucked back into the story.

“Okay, so, we all grew up in the same town, but we didn’t know each other. I had this friend, who you’ll get to meet, hopefully, and he was the only person I really knew.”

Dream looks pointedly at the two hunters ahead of them and then back to Hood, who smiles a bit and wags his finger.

“Just wait. George-”

Dream cocks his head, confused, before he brings up his hands and shapes his fingers into circles before resting them against his eyes. He then points at Goggles and gives a cautious thumbs up. He's not afraid to get it wrong, but he also doesn't want the hunters to think he doesn't are enough to tell them apart from each other.

To his credit, Hood just nods, “that's George, yes. Good job!”

Hood gives him a thumbs up before taking Dream’s hand again. The praise makes him feel like a little kid who got his homework questions right, but he lights up at it anyways. Dream _cares_ , and now they know it.

“So, George talks differently from me and Sapnap, which I think you noticed when you weren’t… being silly like you are now. Well,” he leans in like it’s a secret, and Dream mirrors him excitedly, “that’s because he’s rich. He lived on the other side of the town, and went to a different school than me and Sapnap did. A nicer one, kind of? Anyway, my friend had different classes than I did- so I didn’t know anyone, and a lot of people thought I was too nice.”

Looking at him questioningly, Dream taps Hood’s hand in question. Catching on, the hunter tries his best to explain it to him.

“Sometimes, people are nice to get something else. Like if I wanted to steal your shirt or something, I could try and get really close to you- never mind, that’s weird. Um, some people just- they trick you by being very nice.”

(Dream remembers the man that had a wife buying him drinks that he wasn't even allowed to have, complimenting him, talking to him, getting close, being friendly- gods, Dream was lonely, he wanted a friend so badly-)

“Anyways,” Hood continues after a few seconds of letting that information sink in, “no one wanted to be my friend, and- and they let me know it. Sapnap caught them and the muffin head beat them all up- he almost got expelled for me. I found him later and asked him why, and he said,” Hood pauses, voice soft with the memory. It's something private, but Dream doesn't look away, too caught in the expression that he's never really seen before now. It's something soft and fond and resilient, and it's so brilliant on a face that Dream can only stare.

“He said that no one deserves what they did, especially not me. And it turns out that no one wanted to be his friend either because he came from the people who have a little less money than most people have. So, we became friends. Turns out that we had a few classes together- history and common, I think-”

“Teacher was a _bitch_ ,” Headband calls back to them in confirmation. Dream turns from him to look at Hood expectantly as the man sighs and rolls his eyes.

“ _Language_. But yeah, she wasn’t the nicest. We didn’t meet George until college. He knocked over his potion and some of it ate my notes; all he had to do was apologize and I liked him already.”

Hood points at Sapnap’s back accusingly, and Dream nods without even knowing what the man is going to say.

“ _Sapnap_ tried to fight him for it because he thought it was on purpose, but George yelled at him for it. No one had really tried yelling at Sapnap but me- for when he was being inappropriate- and George was quickly welcomed into the group after that.”

Hood leads him around a hole in the floor gently as he continues.

“We were kids back then, but we never really grew apart. Then, when we went to another school, we all got the same classes for monster hunting and potions- which Sapnap _slept through_ \- and the rest is history!”

Dream smiles at the happy ending, swinging his and Hood’s hands as his attention span wanes to nearly nothing in mere seconds. The story had been important to Hood- something soft and happy that the hunter had wanted to share. It was worth focusing for, worth throwing his full attention into even if he can't focus on much now.

Dream’s eyes stray from place to place, taking everything in despite it having been the same hallway for over an hour. It still stretches out in front of him, and the air burns with enchantments; this kind of underground building would be impossible without some kind of magic- just like the perfectly empty village above it. Dream is beginning to suspect that the village was some kind of trap that would lead travelers to this place and do something to them. He's tempted to think that they all just died, but he hasn't seen any skeletons- even without seeing them, he's positive that that's not what happened to whoever fell down here. The not-window to his right is a picture of someone in a white robe holding a book at a lectern.

Dream can't help but think that it's ugly as he walks past it, hand in hand with Hood.

There’s more not-windows lining the walls on both sides, with tapestries hanging between them. They're almost like curtains that aren't attached to the windows, he thinks as he stares at them.

Useless curtains, Dream decides as he looks closely at the blurry pictures sewn into them. Despite this place being so dusty, the tapestries are clean and bright, like they're brand new. It reminds him of the village; everything here is clean, but only sometimes. New, but only on the second blink.

A white lily is plastered across from one that’s next to another door, which the group goes to without question.

* * *

At this point, any door could be an exit, and they’re all desperate enough to get out that they’ll just waltz into any given room. This room is no exception, even though Dream wants to leave it seconds after entering it.

This room seems darker than the rest, even though it has exactly thirteen lanterns hanging from it’s tall ceiling. The pretty blue glow of them catches and keeps his attention as soon as he walks into the room; the hunters stick closer this time, but the room is smaller than the last. This one has only a table, a chair, and a wall covered in chests and books. Hood immediately walks over to the books again, not touching them since they shine with enchantments, and the other two examine and argue about the purpose of the table.

"It could be for food-"

"Who the fuck-"

"Language!"

"would eat in this room, George-"

Dream gives the table a wide berth, almost scared to be near it. It makes him uneasy for some inexplicable reason, and he's not getting close to it unless he has to.

He looks to the right and sees another lantern- there's fourteen, which is one more than the last room. The difference is odd, but he takes comfort in it while he can and keeps walking around. The carpet in this room is a dark brown that reminds him of rust, and the dye must be cheap because it flakes off with every slow drag of his foot against it. It’s weird, this room, because the splendor of the rest of the underground place was obvious and shiny and captivating. This room, Dream thinks as he watches the carpet flake under the tip of his shoe, feels like something final.

The lights of a lantern flicker, drawing his attention away from the carpet.

Stumbling along on almost numb feet, Dream stares at the lanterns and their glowing. There’s fifteen now, and their lights bounce off of every surface in the room, giving it all a soft blue glow. Walking around the table again, Dream finds himself staring at the wall of chests. His eyes catch onto a specific chest; there’s nothing remarkable about it- it’s shut and very dusty, just like the others- but he slowly makes his way over to it anyway. Dream’s knees crack as they hit the floor, drawing attention to himself.

“You okay?” Headband asks him, looking over. Dream gives a little wave and a thumbs up; it’s enough, and they all go back to what they were doing before. His fingers scrabble at the lid of the chest, but eventually he’s able to force the rusted hinges to open with a loud creak that everyone ignores- too busy arguing and investigating their own things, probably. Not bothering to look around at the others to confirm it, Dream peers into the chest with curiosity that could rival the pain in his throat.

Inside, he finds a mask just like his right next to a miniature grindstone kit.

* * *

“Oh, thank goodness!” Hood sighs as he finds a window that’s actually a window in the back of the room. It was the light behind that window that had given it away- it's darker than the others, less artificial and more warm because of the setting sun.

Dream is the only one who doesn’t look back as they climb through it.

* * *

“Drum roll please,” Headband says as he looks at Dream meaningfully and rapidly hits his thighs. Confused as Hood and Goggles, both giddy with the fresh air, comply with their friend’s request, Dream brings up his hand in a shy wave.

“Hi.”

“Yes! He’s back!” Headband cheers, throwing his hands up in the air like he's won something. The reaction is lost on him as he pauses. Dream’s hands fly up to his throat in surprise, laughing and actually hearing it with his own ears. His throat still burns, probably from all of the not-screaming and the magic, but being able to talk outshines the negatives for now.

“This is so exciting, what do you want to say?” asks Hood as he spins around in the open air with Headband copying him; Goggles just watches fondly and laughs when Headband falls down, and Dream considers the question like it's the only thing he'll be allowed to ask before his voice gets taken away again.

“Do- you still like me, right?"

All three of them pause and turn to him, but it's Goggles who responds with such sincerity that Dream has to choice but to believe him.

"Yes, we do, Dream. We still like you."

With that cleared away, Dream asks another.

"Oh, okay then. Do we have potatoes? I’m hungry.”

* * *

The hunters laugh at him as they all walk through the jungle.

He’s not trying to be a child- everything is just so _new_ to him. The only difference now is that he can’t hold back his fascination with all of the colors that he hadn’t known he was missing out on. Even when he’d first been shoved into his current clothing- in such a scary time- he’d been caught off guard at the sheer vibrancy of it; he couldn't remember ever wearing something so bright at the time, but he's grown to love it. Now the only white thing he has left is his mask- it’s all he’s got of where he used to stay. Dream can’t convince himself that he doesn’t miss it. He misses the books, and some of the people, and he misses not being on the run constantly even if he wouldn't trade the hunters for anything.

There's a lot to miss, and a lot to not miss at all.

Feeling a little homesick, his hands come up to knock at the bleached birch wood, just to make sure that it’s still on his face- not that he wants it there. At all.

Still, his hands linger on it; is Dream even really sure of what he looks like anymore?

“You want me to take that off for you?” Headband asks him suddenly, fingers already dancing eagerly in the air next to his face. The other two pause in their walking before turning around with weird expressions on their faces. Weird, but not bad or judgmental; more like they’d never thought that the mask could come off in the first place. To be fair, Dream hadn’t thought that hunters could do any kind of magic, much less curse breaking. But here they were, Headband’s fingers hovering around the edges of his mask as he actually waits for Dream’s permission to do something. Excited, because he had no idea that hunters could even do that, he nods eagerly and tilts his face further in Headband’s direction. The action knocks the hunter’s fingers against the edges, making him move them back slightly. Not having it, Dream grabs his fingers, puts them on the edge of his mask, and is thrown through the possible futures of this decision.

* * *

“Okay, on three,” Headband offers with a smile as he hooks his fingers under the edge of the mask for a better grip. Dream nods his head rapidly, wincing slightly at the way that it tugs at his skin.

“One.”

He’s so excited to finally feel the air on his skin-

“Two.”

Headband adjusts his grip, and something about this feels _wrong_ somehow.

“Three-”

The mask comes off with one harsh tug, taking most of the skin from his face with it. Dream screams, and he's tugged into another future.

* * *

The hunter chuckles at his eagerness, seeming to find it endearing, and steps back from Dream. His fingers slip from Headband’s as he lets go of Dream’s mask and joins his friends. The other two keep walking again, and no one makes sure he’s following. Dream goes to take a step and falls over almost immediately because the trees begin to spin. The group doesn’t look back once as he fights to get up and follow them, even long after they’re out of his sight. Eventually, he has to give up as night falls and he’s torn into by a horde of undead.

They leave him behind, and Dream hates that future more than anything else.

* * *

Headband searches for a strap, finds nothing, and tugs gently at the mask twice before giving up on it. Everyone is staring at him with varying degrees of grief when the hunter lets go, fingers slowly uncurling from the curved edges.

“Never mind I guess, sorry man.”

“A man can _dream_ ,” Dream laughs, finding it more funny than he thinks it really is as he stumbles blearily into Goggles’ side. The hunter supports him in the same way he has been, but this time it feels more like a hug than a steadying grip.

“We’ll get it, don’t worry,” he hums quietly.

Dream believes him.

* * *

The mask slips off easily, and the hunters all lean away slightly, like they’re seeing something awful.

“He’s kind of _ugly_ , isn’t he?”

Dream's hands come up to his face, shaking harshly as he feels his skin.

Is he?

The hunters laugh as he frantically presses the mask back to his face, trying to hide it from their staring.

* * *

Coming back to the present is like getting a bucket of arctic water poured over his head.

Dream throws Headband’s hands down and backs away so fast he almost falls over his own two feet. His fingers search the mask, sliding under the edge of it to feel where it connects to his skin before pulling them back and looking at them. They don’t come back bloody, and there’s not the ache of skin being pulled or torn. When he looks up, the others haven’t left him alone, and they aren't leaning away. Still, he shivers; Dream is still high, but he can’t afford to be right now. He can’t afford to have a weakness like this in general, even if the hunters say they aren’t going to kill him or sell him. Actually, now that he thinks about it, not knowing is almost worse that knowing what their plan is.

He opens his mouth, shuts it, then sucks it up and opens it again.

“How far is the cleric?” he asks reluctantly as he steadies himself against a tree. His hands still shake, and the second one is free it’s on his mask again.

The three hunters are staring at him like he’s a ticking time bomb. Hood is even wringing his hands nervously in front of him, like he wants to move closer but is too worried about what Dream would do. After what he did in that underground room, Dream can't blame him for not wanting to get close. His fingers twitch, so he clasps his hands together.

It's not the same.

“We’re almost there, but it’s not really a village. More like a town?”

Dream smiles blearily, shaking his head and forgetting what even happened.

"Oh," he smiles at them and tries to steady himself against a tree, "okay then."

The jungle is very green around him, Dream notices as he picks up a baby watermelon and hands it to Headband so he'll stop looking so sad.

* * *

The sun is setting slowly, and camp has been set up for almost an hour because Headband thought it was better to find a safe spot now than keep looking later and not find one at all. It had been a good call, Dream thinks as he stares at the bright colors in the sky. Put on Dream-sitting duty, Goggles sits next to him in the center of the camp, catching him when he lists to the side on his little log and putting up with any wild questions he has about anything at all.

"Why is that bird blue?" Dream asks in wonder as his eyes follow it around the clearing.

"I don't know, Dream, it just is. Name it- name it _Blueberry_ or something."

Dream nods enthusiastically at the name and smiles at Goggles, who's almost asleep on his own log.

For being so nice to him even though he's practically falling asleep, he hands the man the baked potato in his hand that Hood had given him a few minutes ago. The general rule was that you had to go get your own food, but Hood had been worried about Dream tripping into the campfire, so he'd just brought him his share. Headband was still waiting on his food, and then Goggles would be able to go get his if he was even still awake by that time.

Dream’s hand lingers just long enough for Goggles’ hand to brush it as he accepts the food with a small smile, and he gets a brief glimpse into the not-immediate future before he’s back and wheezing into his hands to keep from getting sick. Gods, what _even_ -

Goggles' free hand comes up to steady him, and Dream doesn't fight him but he does tense up uncertainly. How would that even happen- he's been so good, very cooperative. Except he hadn't, Dream realizes suddenly; he'd attacked Hood, and he's wandered off, and he's more trouble than he's worth if he really thinks about it. Seeming to realize that something is off, Goggles awkwardly pats Dream's shoulder before letting him go.

"What're we doing here?" Headband asks as he sits down on Dream's other side and carefully eats his own potato.

"Looking at Blueberry," he says as he stares off into space. He's high- he's very high, and maybe that affects the future seeing process; there's no study on it, not officially, but he's going to cling to that explanation for now and see the cleric tomorrow and everything is going to be fine. Satisfied with his conclusion, Dream accepts the potato that Hood presses into his hand with a happy little huff.

They spend the night around the fire in their beds, and his own is died a lime green so bright that just thinking about it makes him smile happily. He stares up at the sky and sees stars that don't choke out the darkness- stars that form pictures if he tilts his head a certain way, which Goggles tells him are constellations.

When Dream asks what they're called, he finds out that none of the three hunters know anything about stars, so he makes his own little blob shape out of them and names it Goggles, just to see the hunter stare at him incredulously.

"It looks like you!" Dream says, holding in a wheezing laugh as he points at it. 

"Goggles, who can't even make it out but is offended anyway, argues with him while the other two hunters just watch it all happen and laugh quietly.

"No, it doesn't."

"Yeah, it does now that I think about it," Headband, who's never passed up an opportunity to poke fun at Goggles, chimes in after a few seconds of silence.

(If he tries to remember touching Goggles' hand for that split-second, Dream can almost still feel his shaking fingers clenched around the bars of a cage, so he puts them in fists and tucks them into his sides.

It's probably just something weird, Dream thinks as he takes one hand out so he can pet the blanket with his fingers. He's not going to end up in a cage, not while he's with Hood and Headband and Goggles-

It's all going to be fine.)

Dream falls asleep without really meaning to and wakes up to yelling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp,,,,,,,,, any theories or predictions? Please leave a comment! <3
> 
> ALSO,,,,, WE'VE GOT A DISCORD NOW <3
> 
> https://discord.gg/yQXnGPf


	9. Help From The Outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S SO LATE, I'M SORRY!!!!!

Dream is up and out of his bedroll before he’s even fully opened his eyes, shifting into a low crouch and tensing up so harshly that his legs cramp in protest. The feeling that something is wrong is mysteriously absent from the air, but that only makes his heart pound faster- just another thing that's different and weird and off, and it's going to get him killed-

He's been wrong before, and his bleary mind is terrified of being wrong this time too.

But then he hears Goggles sigh in a way that makes it sound like his patience is leaving his body in one big whoosh, and Dream relaxes without meaning to; he knows that sound, and he's not in danger. His cramping legs give out half a second later, sending him back onto the ground as he looks around in confusion. His hands come up to rub at his eyes and knock against the wood of his mask, startling him enough for him to flinch and nearly fall backwards completely. Barely catching himself in time, Dream's hands sink into the soft grass, drawing his attention to it as he forgets what he was so scared about in the first place. His fingers softly drag through the blades, petting the ground and staring at the bright green of it that's obvious even with the sun not completely in the sky. It's a nice color, darker and deeper than what he's wearing, but still undeniably green and pretty. The grass is wet with morning dew, some pieces sticking to his fingers, but he doesn't mind it that much.

“You get the fuck away, right now, this is trespassing-”

Dream jerks in surprise at the shout.

“Oh, come on- the ban was lifted-”

“What the shit- it was _not_ -”

Awake and still on the ground and shaking from residual adrenaline, Dream peers around himself and watches as Headband gets even more involved in his screaming match against two children. Both are holding some sort of weapon, and both look very unimpressed with the man that they’re currently in a screaming match with as they yell right back. Hunters are not usually screamed at by children- not by children who live to boast about it, anyway- and Dream is almost dreading the outcome of this. He's seen it too many times- kids playing hero and paying for it- but there's never any way to end it. He waits, sitting in the grass and feeling woozy and trying to focus on the fight, for the inevitable flash of a blade being pulled out of Headband’s sheath, for the sound of a blade hitting flesh and pained screaming. But Headband does nothing but cock a hip and get louder, not once going for his weapon or attacking the two even as they get louder. They must know each other, Dream decides as he slowly pets the grass and adjusts his sitting position, crossing his legs and blinking in mild confusion. Even if they did know each other, any other hunter would have knocked the two kids flat at the first sign of disrespect- Headband is nice.

Goggles sighs again, making Dream look to his left to see the other two hunters talking lowly in the dim light.

Everyone else is already awake, apparently.

When he sees him sitting up in the grass, Hood comes over and carefully ruffles his hair in greeting, which Dream smiles happily at, before they both turn back to the show in front of them. Goggles follows, standing behind Dream and occasionally offering a muttered comment. He can feel Hood’s exasperation for the two of them from beside him, but he’s mostly just entertained and relieved, though he can’t remember why he even thought that any of his hunters would hurt kids.

He turns his attention towards where the sun is trying to peek over ground behind the fight, letting it hit his face with a slight grumble of protest and only one attempt to hide his face; his hands are busy, still petting the grass, so he just does this awkward little movement where he tucks his head against his shoulder. It doesn’t work well, so he gives up and just slowly gets used to the light as it gets stronger, shining through the holes in his mask and temporarily blinding him every time he opens his eyes. Eventually, he just forces them to stay open and looks around, appreciating the view. There aren’t any walls around him, and he can see the sky as the rising sun paints it in bright colors. His eyes stray from the entertainment of the yelling match, tracing the streaks of color that are above him until they’re watering so much that he has to shut them for a few seconds.

Dream loves the sky and all of it's bright colors, and he doesn’t want to look away even though his eyes hurt.

“We’re coming whether you like it or not-”

Maybe they’re related, he muses as he looks back at the three and watches the shorter kid heft the stick higher on his shoulder in threat at what Headband has just said; he’s heard that siblings will argue like this, but he’s not sure where he heard it. Maybe a book or something like that- he really likes books, so it's possible.

Books-

Dream thinks he remembers Hood having a book from the library of that place- which he really shouldn’t have touched, let alone taken with him- and that could be a problem later. He’ll have to read it before the hunter does, just to be sure that it’s not something that can hurt anyone. Not that he thinks Hood would hurt anyone- the guy is pretty nice- but still. Things in ruins like that are probably not supposed to be touched, even by nice people. Maybe it’s a flower book, he thinks as his fingers brush against a daisy next to him; Dream’s pretty sure he saw a picture of a lily on it, but he doesn’t really remember anything specific- just that the book was pretty.

Hood needs a nice book instead- he'll have to find one for him, Dream decides.

When he tunes back in for the second time, he realizes with some mild disappointment that he’s missed a good chunk of the fight. Hood is also gone from his side, now standing next to Goggles and Headband as he talks to the two kids, who both relax slightly at the sight of him and become more docile. That appears to be the hunter’s superpower; Dream certainly feels safe with him around- and he really likes that Hood wears gloves, because it means that he can hold his hand as much as he wants.

He never knew how much he missed touch until he got it again.

“Whatever,” the blonde kid says as he stares the group of hunters down like he’s going to take them all down, “Wilbur isn’t going to be happy, but that’s not going to be our problem.”

* * *

Wilbur, who has very fluffy hair that Dream really wants to touch, is not happy when he sees the hunters- he doesn’t even give Hood a smile as he meets them outside of massive walls that tower over everything else around them.

The man in front of him is taller than he is, which is intimidating and unfamiliar, but Dream can deal with it because he’s here with the hunters. Goggles, Headband, and Hood wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him now, not when they still need him for something, so he feels a little bit safer than he probably should while in a foreign nation with his traveling partners who have angered the government. Wilbur’s face however, makes any anxiety he has over this situation even worse; the guy is gorgeous, even with the blank expression that he’s wearing that makes Dream feel like he’s breaking rules that he shouldn’t be. It almost feels like scorn, even if Dream can read the curiosity in his eyes as they make eye contact, something light and calculating. But that’s not the issue; it’s something about the deep dark brown of his eyes that reminds Dream of offered drinks and flattery. His face is all wrong though, which Dream reminds himself of when he notices that he’s begun to shrink back slightly, and this man’s build is too thin to really hurt Dream.

This is comforting, even though he can’t focus on why it would be.

The deep green of the grass at his feet catches his attention, but Dream doesn't think he can get closer to it without letting go of Hood's hand. Testing it, he realizes that he can crouch and touch the grass without letting go, and Dream smiles at being able to do both.

"Dude, _look_ at him," he hears Headband say, making him look up to see what everyone is supposed to be looking at. Dream blinks at all of the eyes that are on him, one hand still buried in the grass and the other being held by Hood, who smiles down at him.

"Hi," Dream says with a wave before he puts his hand back in the grass and swishes it around just to feel the blades tickle his fingers. He even takes a few moments to fight with his glove, using his teeth to pull it off so he can feel the grass against his whole hand.

Staying true to his being annoyed, the pretty man only gives Dream a quick once over before turning away to address Hood and only Hood.

Dream is starting to see a running pattern with this government.

“He looks fine to me-”

“He’s high off of red stone,” Goggles corrects slowly like him saying it like that will get the other man to actually understand his words, turning back to look at Dream, who meets his eyes with a smile and a wave, even though he’s nervous and confused. Rather than continuing to pet the grass, Dream stands up; he doesn't like all of the attention, and he doesn't want to be on the ground if something bad happens.

The taller child buts in, pointing a strong finger at Dream, who nearly goes cross-eyed trying to see it, “he also doesn’t have a _face_ , Wil-”

He is ignored, and Dream gives him a small wave and a smile to make the kid feel better; it’s Dream’s turn to be ignored then, but he doesn’t mind it as much when the smaller kid waves back at him. Something like content fills him as he and the kid smile at each other before turning back to their own things. When he's sure that no one is looking at him, Dream slowly trails a hand up to his mask and knocks at it quietly but with enough force to press it into his skin each time.

He has a face, doesn’t he? He has to have one- he can see, and talk and breathe-

Dream has a face, right?

Right?

“Look, President Wilbur, I know you don’t owe us anything-”

“Last time you came into L’manburg, you almost burned it down,” the slight scowl on his face betrays his cool and calm manner once again, but no one seems surprised by the change in mood. Dream cringes away from the group at the mention of fire, feeling himself panic slightly at the very thought of an untamed one, but is distracted by a chicken that begins walking between the feet of the group and bobbing its head like a little dance. It looks soft and healthy, so different from the bleached white chickens that The Dream had kept around in their own farms. The one walking circles around his feet is a soft brown color, and Dream immediately comes to the conclusion that he loves it as he quickly frees his hand from Hood's and reaches down for it and takes it into his arms. The bird briefly struggles against him before Dream adjusts his hold on it and it reluctantly gives in to being held, even if it does continue to lightly squirm.

“Look, this guy is dangerous, but that’s a long story-”

The chicken clucks at him and Dream tries his best to cluck back at it- doing a near perfect imitation that the chicken cocks its head at like it can’t believe what it’s just heard. He wheezes out a laugh and pets its back as it stares at him before settling down in his hold. He likes it; it’s very soft, and it’s not trying to peck at his fingers or get away, which is very nice of it.

When Dream looks up, all eyes are on him. Confused and thinking that he maybe shouldn’t be touching things, he reluctantly holds the chicken out to Wilbur in offering, trying not to let his hands shake too much when he sees the man continuing to stare.

“Do you want it back?”

The tall child bursts into laughter as the man sets a hand over his face and lets out a deep sigh. Dream steps back, bringing the chicken closer to his chest as he does, but Wilbur doesn’t try to come any closer.

“Fine. Fine, we’ll sober him up or something.”

Dream gets to keep holding the chicken, which he’s very happy about, and they’re taken inside the walls.

* * *

Everything is so different outside of The Dream, he thinks as he stares down at the animal in his arms and then around him at the deep colors of the uniforms everyone is wearing in the nation. Even the uniforms aren’t the same; there’s different badges and ties, and there’s even someone wearing a uniform that’s colored completely differently from everyone else, which no one bats an eye at. They all talk and laugh and watch as Dream and the hunters are led deeper into their land, but no one goes silent when they walk by.

Nothing is the same, but everything is _equal_.

* * *

“Stop that- no, don’t touch that, it’s harming- Hunters, control your- your _person_ or whatever,” Wilbur orders as Dream begins reaching for the potion stand closest to him. The room is tiny, even without five people crammed into it; it would be larger if half of it wasn’t taken over by potion supplies and the little brown chicken that he’s kept with him.

“Lets not touch anything, okay?” Hood says gently, leading Dream’s hands to the chicken that Goggles sets in his lap with a huff. Dream immediately buries his fingers into the soft feathers, letting out a little laugh when the chicken nestles further into his lap.

Wilbur lets out a tired sigh and looks at him, which Dream tenses up at, but the man doesn't come any closer, so Dream goes back to petting the chicken in his lap and listening to the sound of books thumping onto every available surface.

Everyone else gets to work, pouring through potion books and occasionally having to stop Dream’s curious fingers from touching things that he shouldn’t. Headband complains about the work a lot, but he never stops flipping the pages in his books, even when Dream offers him the chicken so the man can take a break; he hates to see the hunter unhappy or bored.

"I wanna read," Dream mumbles to the chicken, still petting it. Wordlessly, Goggles comes over and shares his book with him.

"We're looking for regeneration-"

Dream brightens, smiling widely at the familiar name of the potion.

"Oh, I know that one."

Three books slam shut- one for each hunter-, and the taller child looks over at him from where he's been reading the book to the smaller child.

" _What_?"

* * *

While they wait for the new potion- made with glow stone this time- to brew, Headband and Goggles take him out of the crowded room and into the grassy fields of the small nation, where he sets his chicken down before dropping to the ground himself. It occupies him for only a few minutes before someone with dark glasses suggests giving them a tour of the land. When that’s not enough, the two hunters take him out of the walls and into the nearby spruce forest, where Dream can walk around and hold his chicken without almost knocking something off of a shelf or accidentally destroying part of a building.

This is where Dream learns that Goggles is colorblind.

"You can't see?" Dream asks him, hand waving in front of his face. Leaning away from the hand, Goggles sighs at him.

"I can see, I just can't see like _you_ do."

His mind stutters at that; Dream can't help but think of it as Goggles' eyes having their own opinion, but even in his own mind he's confused by his own explanation. Goggles sees colors, just differently than everyone else does- but how different is it, Dream wonders as he looks around at the vibrant colors of the forest.

"Goggles can't see colors," he tells Headband, like the man wouldn't already know that his friend is blind. He gets a confused face and then a sharp laugh as a finger jerks up to point at Goggles, startling Dream slightly.

"He called you _Goggles_ -"

"What? My name is George!" Goggles complains, confusion dripping from his voice as he turns to stare at Dream, who cocks his head at him. Goggles doesn't look like he likes the name, Dream thinks sullenly, feeling bad about it. Headband laughs again, distracting him.

"What's _my_ nickname?" He asks with a smile and a raised eyebrow; Dream smiles back at him, looking away from Goggles.

"Headband."

Headband smiles at him, soft and full of teeth in its broadness.

"I'm Sapnap," he says, which Dream nods at as he repeats it, trying to get it to stick in his brain.

"Sap-nap. _Sapnap_."

"He's so cute, I can't believe that you can't see all of the colors of his cuteness, you _loser_ -"

Which reminds Dream that- oh, yeah, Goggles can't see color- and that's something that he begins testing immediately, setting his chicken down and finding things for the hunter to look at.

“What color is this?” Dream asks excitedly, ripping a cornflower from the ground. Goggles- George, he should call him George if he doesn't like being called Goggles- sighs and runs a hand down his face before replying in a voice so dead that Dream wilts the slightest bit.

“Blue.”

He nods enthusiastically, handing the flower off to Headband, who then puts it down next to the chicken and next to the growing pile of things that he’s going to get George to look at.

Dream rips up a small berry bush next, dirt getting caught under his nails as he pulls it from the ground.

“And this?”

Goggles pauses, staring at the plant in Dream’s bleeding fingers.

“Is a berry bush.”

“That means he doesn’t know,” supplies Sapnap- who he can still call Headband, he's pretty sure-, taking the thorny branch from him and picking the berries off of it. He offers some to Dream, who sniffs them before slowly putting one in his mouth. It bursts between his teeth, and a sharp sweetness explodes in his mouth. When offered, Dream takes a few more, holding them away from the chicken when it tries to get one from his fingers.

“I mean, it’s all the _same_ color, isn't it? The berries and the leaves-”

Headband bursts out laughing, startling Dream into joining him, and George protests immediately. Dream gives him a few berries to make him feel better about it, which the hunter accepts after some brief hesitation and a pointed look from his friend.

* * *

The new potion is a very nice pink color- which Goggles can’t see- a regeneration one, and Dream likes it but he doesn’t know why he needs the little blade as well until someone explains it to him and the hunters as a group. It makes him feel better to not be the only person lost on the need for it, just a little bit.

The smaller child explains it to them, because he’s apparently very smart with everything.

“The red stone- it’s in his blood, yeah? So he needs to bleed a lot and then drink this, and then he’ll be all good because the potion will replenish his blood!”

The shorter child, Tubbo, is very smart, Dream concludes as he takes the short sword being offered and turns it inwards, towards his torso. The hunters and everyone else scramble to stop him, and Goggles looks like he’s having flashbacks to something as he stands from his chair so fast that it tips over.

“Hey hey hey- no. Dream, _no_ -”

Hood is right, Dream thinks as he pauses with the sharp point of the sword pressed against his stomach; he just needs to bleed a lot, not impale himself and possibly die. The hunters look relieved when he stops before stabbing himself, shoulders relaxing as Headband’s hands come up to gently take the weapon away.

Rather than giving it up, Dream swings it downwards instead, and his blood splatters the walls as the blade sinks into his thigh before he rips it out again just as fast.

Everyone is looking at him now, and Wilbur’s calm is once again lost as he yelps and stumbles backwards from the spray that’s already hit him.

“What the _fuck_ -”

“Dream!” George yells, hands floating around him as he stresses; Headband’s hands are in his hair and Hood’s mouth is open in shock, hands still up in the air where the handle of the blade used to be. Dream hadn’t ever noticed that his teeth were sharp before now, but he doesn’t think that it really matters when the guy is so nice to everyone. He’s like a friendly shark, or a dolphin with sharp teeth.

Tubbo quickly presses the regeneration potion into his hands, looking a little sick and pale, “just wait a few more minutes, then drink it.”

The urge to look down at his leg is strong, as he can’t really feel any pain and he might not have made it deep enough. His hands are bloody, but Hood takes the potion from them and holds them anyway, the sword long forgotten on the floor. Dream makes a few jerky movements to free his hands, trying to touch his leg to feel for the wound, but his hands stay trapped in the hunter's anxious grip.

“Don’t. Touch. It. _Please_ , don't touch it,” Hood stresses as he looks down at Dream’s leg and then immediately has to look away again. Maybe he's not a shark, Dream considers as he looks at him; a shark wouldn't look so pale at the sight of blood. George and Headband aren’t doing much better when he looks over to them for help with his trapped-hands-and-worried-Hood situation. Honestly, he doesn’t see what the big deal is- he’s got to lose blood for the potion to work, he just did what he had to.

“But it doesn’t _hurt_ -”

Dream quickly glances down to make his point and blinks when he sees bone shining through the dark red of his blood. The stark white of it almost glows against everything else, and he can’t help but feel slightly nauseated by the sight. He should have taken his pants off before he tore a gash in them, he thinks blearily as he looks away like everyone else. These are his only pair right now, and now they're bloody and torn.

“Oh,” he says faintly.

“Is that seriously all you’re going to say? ‘Oh’?”

Tommy, the taller child, enters the room and has to do a doubletake, slamming a hand over his mouth in shock.

“Your _leg_ , man!”

“Yeah, we’re well aware,” Wilbur mutters as he gets closer to examine the damage. His long fingers settle on Dream’s thigh to steady his leg as he gets closer, and he can’t help the small flinch that he gives at the pressure. It doesn't hurt- not really- but it makes him nervous. It takes him a few seconds to be able to breathe normally, and even then he can only do it if he tries to focus on anything but the hand touching his leg. The leg that everyone else is focused on, and the leg that's attached to his body so he can't hold the chicken to distract himself this time.

The fingers wrapped around his own feel too tight, too constricting all of a sudden, and Dream has to fight to stay still, to not rip his hands away from Hood and clutch them to his chest. His free leg jumps up and down anxiously, and Wilbur looks up at him briefly, brown eyes calculating, and Dream finally just shuts down and stops moving altogether.

“Dream?” Hood asks, when his fingers go slack in the hunter’s hold, his own grip tightening in response to an almost painful extent.

“‘M good,” he mumbles, leaning into the hunter’s shoulder like it’s going to hide him from Wilbur, who’s actually being generally apathetic and helpful to him. Dream just can’t get past his eye color, and he’s pretty sure that it’s mean to not like someone just because of something so small, but a part of him doesn’t care- the same part of him that wants to hide from this person who’s taller than him and who has brown eyes and whose hand is settled on his thigh-

Wilbur, oblivious to Dream’s dislike of his eye color of all things, grabs a medical cloth from behind him.

They aren't the same, Dream reminds himself, trying to stop his bouncing leg. The chicken clucks from the floor, and he looks over at it desperately so he can have a distraction.

“Can I name the chicken Patches?” Dream tentatively asks Wilbur as the man presses cloth to his leg with one hand and gives him back the potion with the other before he backs off. Headband takes his place, and Dream feels bad about being so obviously relieved about Wilbur not touching him.

“I don’t care.”

Dream drinks the potion, nose wrinkling at the salty taste, and idly kicks his feet for a while before George tells him to stop.

"You could nap," suggests Tubbo after a few minutes of everyone just standing there watching his leg slowly close, "you'd wake up perfectly fine, and it would make it work faster, probably."

"Naptime for the high person," Headband teases with too much relief in his voice for it to be taken as only a light joke, helping Dream stand up from the chair and being careful to not touch his skin. Hood grabs the chicken- Patches- from the floor, and George holds the door for everyone.

Dream giggles tiredly, relaxing into the hunters hold on him as he stumbles out of the medical tent and is led into another building.

"Sap- _nap_!"

* * *

He wakes up alone with a clear head and an unlocked door in front of him.

Dream runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High Dream, as iconic as he is, is no more! <3


	10. These Walls Of Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update????? So soon????? Yes! But don't get too excited please; this chapter is only like,,, 2k words, and it's more of just reintroducing sober Dream to the story! Please enjoy! <3

He stumbles out of the door and onto some sort of path, throwing up a hand to combat the bright sunlight that shoots through the holes in his mask, and quickly takes stock of his surroundings. There’s buildings, each one different from the other, and what looks like houses just kind of sprinkled around in the area. There's not much else, other than that from what he can see.

It’s a little town, he’s pretty sure, but Dream can’t see anyone around him, or even hear them, and something about that makes him incredibly uneasy; this town looks lived in, lights are on in houses and a few doors are even left open, but no one is there to make noise. It's almost eerie, but nothing feels wrong about it, per say; it's like everyone is just busy, gone from their houses to a festival or a game, and soon to return and fill the air with noise. Seconds later, bright laughter and chatter reaches his ears, and Dream’s shoulders lose some of their tension at the sound, even though he'd been searching for it and almost positive that the village was fine. Still, the sound just further confirms that, right, this village couldn’t be one of those things- none of the buildings look the same, and there’s no fountain to be seen. Honestly, Dream’s not sure that there’s even a definite center of town here; it looks like all of the buildings were just kind of added in over time with little planning or thought, and the sight relaxes him even further. Something so thrown together is unlikely to be a trap or any sort.

A chicken stops by his feet and cocks its head up at him expectantly, and he impulsively leans down and takes it into his arms like it’s a child who can’t see something at an animal show; having his hands full isn’t the best idea right now, but he can’t help the soft pats he gives the little bird as he slowly begins walking again, creeping around corners while trying to act like he’s supposed to be here. For all he knows, maybe he _is_.

Everything after getting into the honey-pot village is a blur that he can only remember bits and pieces of; he knows that one of the hunters has a book that he shouldn’t, that he attacked one of them, and that he’s still here to breathe in air after doing so. Everything besides those facts is mush, and it sends sharp pains through his head when he tries to dive any deeper into his memory than that. Though, Dream supposes that it doesn’t really matter if he can’t remember anything- he doubts that the intentions of the hunters have changed, so he’s just got to keep doing his whole avoiding them thing until it all ends.

One way or another, all of this is going to end.

The thought fills him with dread- Dream is never going to stop running, not until something or someone takes him out. He _can’t_ stop running. The second that his masked face was printed on bounty posters, he was a dead man walking. Even if these hunters don’t take him out, if they drop the contract and give up, others will pick it up and keep hunting him like a dog until something comes out of it. Something being his head, most likely-

“Oh, You’re up!” A kid- that’s a _child_ , holy shit- says as they both round the corner at the same time, almost hitting each other. Dream stumbles back from him and balances his stance as fast as he can, instantly weary of this new person who apparently recognizes him. The kid, who’s holding a ridiculous amount of sticks and who’s been smiling this whole time, frowns a bit at the stumble. He frowns even harder when he sees the chicken, setting down his load of sticks and rummaging into his pockets like he's got something to give him. Dream continues to watch him, not moving a muscle; technically, this kid doesn’t look like he’d stand a chance against Dream in any sort of fight whatsoever. But Dream hasn’t survived this long by simply going off of looks, so he stays ready for anything, just in case.

Even though he’s half-ready for it, Dream’s heart hammers harder in his chest when the kid’s hands come back with a potion and a knife. Slowly, he puts the chicken back on the ground.

“You might need another dose,” the kid says, stepping closer with a small smile, “I can help you with it if you’d like, since last time you scared everyone-”

The bright sunlight catches on the blade, almost making it glow, and Dream _moves_. He rolls forwards, drops into a crouch, and shoots out a leg to kick the back of the kid’s knee, taking him down in mere seconds. The poor kid hits the ground hard, gasping as he likely gets the air knocked out of his lungs, but Dream doesn’t stop to check on him. Instead, he takes the knife and potion and he runs, ignoring the yelling behind him that asks him to wait.

Dream runs past small buildings, picking a direction and sticking with it, because _surely_ this town can’t go on forever-

He can’t deny the way that his heart plummets when he sees tall, dark walls in all directions, keeping him in.

Feet skidding against the rough path, he makes a sharp left, darting between two buildings and shoving his spoils away so that his hands will be free if he needs them. The knife stays up his sleeve, just a small flick of his wrist away, and Dream hopes against all odds that he won’t have to use it to get out of here.

* * *

He sticks to the darker parts of the small town, walking between buildings like one of the monsters that will burn under the sun and trying to piece together everything that he's missing.

What Dream seems to forget, is that these are hunters that he’s dealing with- people who know what to look for and where to look for it.

Or, as he finds out, people who just have dumb luck that feeds off of his own misfortune.

It’s the humming that hits him first, happy and light and barely masking the sound the footsteps that accompany it. At this point, it’s too late; Dream’s been caught, and he knows it. There’s no way that the hunter isn’t going to see him when they’re less than three feet from each other. Sure enough, the hooded hunter walks past and does a double take when he sees Dream.

“Oh, hi Dream!” the hunter says cheerily, waving at him from the pathway and walking a few steps before he turns around on his heel with his mouth open in shock.

“Dream!”

Dream only feels a little bad about it when he throws a punch directly into the guy’s throat and runs.

* * *

Only a few minutes later, the town comes to life in the search for him.

“We don’t want to _scare_ him!” he hears the hooded hunter protest, voice sounding rough in a way that Dream winces at. Maybe he shouldn't have gone straight for the throat, but maybe the hunter shouldn't have given him away in the first place. The guilt over it remains, as much as Dream tries to shoo it away.

“He dropped Tubbo and _throat-punched_ you, Bad,” another voice chimes in, “I don’t think he’s high anymore.”

Tubbo must be the child with the sticks, Dream deduces as he settles into his shady spot at the side of a random building. The brick is rough against his back, but he doesn’t mind it too much when he compares it to the alternative of being found by this apparent search party.

Hopefully, he thinks as he listens in, they think that he's not close by, and he can just tail them until he sees some sort of exit in the walls.

As if to spite him, a hand tangles in the fabric of his sleeve and yanks his forwards before hands catch his shoulders and slam him back into the wall. It’s a ruthlessly effective way of stunning him, which means that it’s not one of the hunters who’s done it; they are neither ruthless nor effective, in Dream’s opinion.

When he’s finally able to blink the stars from his vision and focus on the face, he wishes that it _was_ a hunter. The man pinning him to the wall is tall- taller than he is- and he’s got brown eyes that are more calculating than anything that Dream is comfortable with, like he’s going to spill all of Dream’s secrets without even knowing them. Strong hands come up and grab his wrists, and Dream jerks as the fight response suddenly floods into him.

He thrashes like a wild animal against the hold, gritting his teeth and kicking out with his legs as he tries to free himself. His captor is unaffected, and Dream thanks whatever god there is that his wrists are covered and he's not being thrown out of this moment and into the future.

“What are you doing?” the man asks, cocking an eyebrow like this is a pleasant little chat between them, or like he's caught Dream with his hand in the cookie jar. Dream thrashes out again and the man steps closer into his space to keep him down, bodily pinning him to the wall. Flinching back at the sudden and very uncomfortable closeness, he looks up again and his heart tries to drop through the floor when he meets brown eyes. The eyes haven’t changed, still calculating and curious and disinterested all in one go, but it feels like Dream isn’t there anymore- like his back is to a different building, and it’s night, and there’s a ring on the hand pinning his wrists together, cold even through the sleeve of his white robes-

His hands are free now, and he’s got his personal space back, but his chest is heaving and he’s bent over like someone’s just punched him in the stomach- it _feels_ like that's what's happened, at least. He can see shoes next to him, belonging to the man, and Dream flicks out his wrist and slashes out with the knife without hesitation. The swing is sloppy, and Dream is still shaky and not breathing right, but even trying to fight back makes him feel marginally better.

The sharp blade tears through fabric, but completely misses the body under the thick layers, forcing Dream to jump back from his failed attempt and get ready to strike out again. This time, he’s lost the element of surprise, and the man is ready for him. Dream swings his arm again, and the blade glances off of the button on the man’s uniform as he calmly steps back out of reach.

When Dream doesn’t follow him with an attack, the man nods like it proves something.

“You don’t want to hurt me.”

And Dream doesn’t, not really- he just wants to get out, get away and get a head start on the hunters and their tools and their smiles. But he will if he has to, so he shakes his head jerkily.

“But I will.”

Hands close around his arms and he struggles against them, fighting the hold with only slightly less desperation than he’d had when fighting the man in front of him's hold. The hands are gentle but stern as they pull him from the shadows, and he can only assume that it’s two of the hunters and their dumb luck again as he’s disarmed and held back.

“I don’t doubt that you would, if you had to,” the man finally says as he watches on, fingers rubbing at the scuffed button that had saved him from what could have been a nasty cut to the torso. Dream bares his teeth at him, angry and scared and feeling restricted by the amount of people that are suddenly around him- all of them too close and too loud. Oblivious to what's happening around them, two kids- the Tubbo from before and a new one- begin loudly talking over everything else, seamlessly taking the attention off of Dream like they were born to do it.

“Holy shit- why’d he have a knife on him?” the new kid asks as he takes the weapon from the hunter with the goggles, turning it around in his hands like it will change shape if he stares at it hard enough. Dream watches as Tubbo winces next to him, running a hand through his hair and looking away sheepishly.

“That was my bad-”

“Wha- Tubbo!”

Dream startles at the shout right next to his ear, fingers twitching like he can call a weapon back into them to get him out of this situation that he’s stuck in.

“Hey, you’re okay!” a voice soothes, patting his shoulder but stopping when Dream jerks away from the touch like it’s the tip of a poisoned arrow.

Not stopping to consider the possible consequences, Dream slams his left foot down onto the foot of one of the people holding him, getting his arm free from their slack hold. He then shoves at the other person until they let go, barely being cautious enough to avoid skin contact as he fumbles until he’s free, at which point he stumbles forwards a few steps and quickly puts distance between himself and the group. They all watch him with varying emotions, most a range of caution and surprise, but Dream doesn’t try to attack them; it would be stupid to chance it when he’s so outnumbered, and he just needs to get _away_.

The man who’d pinned him to the wall steps forwards to put himself between Dream and the kids, but Dream only stares for a split second before he turns on his heel and runs.

“Explain,” he hears the man demand in his deep voice as he runs away, feet hitting the path the only other sound as no one moves to follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3!!!!


	11. Frost-Bitten Fingers (Frost-Bitten Nose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, sorry,,,,

Dream doesn’t get as far as he would like before he’s collapsing against the wall of another building and panting for air so hard that his lungs hurt with the motion. His hands clench into fists at his sides, nails biting through the palms of his gloves as he seethes breathlessly at his situation.

He can run further than this- further and faster and _better_ \- he knows it, because he’s done it.

Dream knows that he can do better, so why is he halfway to the ground with a tight feeling in his chest and the need to run stuck in his blood. Why is he gasping like someone's just tried to drown him, shaking like he's cold- 

Why is he scared?

That one guy, the one who’s pinned him earlier, hardly touched him at all. Dream grits his teeth in frustration, beating his hands against the rough wall absently as he tries to push himself to get to the bottom of whatever this is and fast. He doesn't have the time to sit here and have a pity party- and he doubts that he ever will, honestly.

Nothing even happened that night, he reminds himself as he clenches his eyes shut. Nothing happened, he’s fine, everything is fine-

Dream’s shoulders shake and he finally chokes out a sob that's so unexpected that it startles him. His hands come up to his face like they can hide it better than the mask stuck to it, and he ends up just tracing the circular shape gently as he forces himself to stop crying over nothing.

He’s fine- he has to be. Dream’s got no time to worry over the past right now, not when he might not even have a future if he doesn’t fucking go-

Dream forces his feet to move, to take a step or do anything at all, and his knees give out.

“Fuck,” he mutters when his knees crack against the ground so hard that his clenched teeth rattle in his skull. Dream is immediately trying to force himself up, to get leverage against the wall so he can stand and keep going, and after a few attempts he manages to get to his feet.

Shaking his head and taking a shuddering breath, Dream walks.

* * *

As it turns out, there’s not an exit to the town. Dream makes one and a half circles while tracing the wall before he realizes this, and notices that one particular section of the wall looks very temporary, and very new. They baby-proofed the town, he realizes as he stares at it in disbelief. He’s locked in, unless he can find another way out. He looks around himself, eyes catching on rooftops and climbable trees before they land on something else.

They baby-proofed the town, he thinks again with a smile, but not well.

No more than ten feet from the blocked entrance, there’s a ladder on the wall that goes all of the way up to the top. It’s a long way up- and a very, _very_ long way _down_ \- but Dream doesn’t focus on that.

Dream, legs still a little numb but feeling very determined, is going to put the ladder to good use, push down his fear, escape, and then either push this whole day deep down in his mind and never think about it again or freak out massively in a few hours when he’s safe and not with other people who are being paid to kill him. They haven't done it yet, but that doesn't mean anything; they took the bounty, and it's not Dream's problem if they don't fulfill it just yet.

Stepping out of the shadows and filled with determination, he places his hands on the ladder and gathers his courage.

His foot lands on the first rung and he hesitates slightly, looking around himself because, surely, it’s not going to be this easy. Someone is going to catch him, or shoot him down halfway up, or do something else and he’s going to fall and die. There’s no way that they just forgot about the ladder, it’s right there, come on.

He keeps going, trying to clear his mind. It works, in a way; as long as he’s not focusing on how high up he is, everything is a little better.

Halfway up, Dream looks down to check for people.

And then, like a cat in a tree, Dream is stuck.

Immediately, his hands shake and he has to clench his eyes shut against the nausea that slams into him. It’s definitely not a great idea to just hold on for dear life and not make any progress, but it’s what’s happening right now and Dream did it to himself. He physically can’t unclench his sweaty fingers from the ladder rung that they’re holding to so tightly, practically glued to it as a light breeze feels like a tornado against his body, threatening to throw him off of the ladder.

Regret is familiar territory at this point.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, he hears the hunters yelling for him. He’s unable to make out any words, but they seem to be expecting an answer from him- he’s not going to give them one.

They don’t seem to need one to find him, unfortunately, and the yelling when they spot him is louder, but they all go nearly silent when someone slowly calls up to him, “are- are you _stuck_?”

“Fuck off,” Dream mutters under his breath, yanking himself up one foot higher out of spite. He regrets it almost immediately as his slick fingers slide slightly against the ladder, but it doesn’t stop him from taking a deep breath and moving up once more. His gloves provide some traction for his palms at least, so he’s probably not going to fall.

Hopefully.

“Dream-”

“Don’t let him get away-”

Turning his face upwards, Dream quickly takes the ladder one rung at a time, scrambling up the wall despite the way that his heart plummets with every move, like it’s going to drag him back to the ground. One wrong move, all it would take is one wrong move.

“Dream, come back-”

“Cut him off somehow-”

“Fuck, why’d they leave the ladder up-”

His foot skids against a rung before slipping off of it altogether, and for a few seconds Dream is just holding on with his hands while his legs dangle.

“Dream-”

His foot mercifully finds the ladder again, and Dream forces himself to keep moving, going even faster now and just trying to get to the top as fast as he can.

When his fingers run against the rough stone at the top of the wall, Dream feels like crying in relief as he hauls himself onto the solid surface and puts his back to the tall edge of the guardrail behind him.

_Holy shit_ -

It’s at this moment that he hears the sounds of the hunters coming up after him, feet sounding much more steady than his own had been, and their pace much faster.

Dream doesn’t have time to sit against the railing and rejoice, he has to move again. Warily eyeing the drop off that the other side of the path on top of the wall has, Dream begins running along the top of the wall, not giving himself time to think about it too much as he sprints and looks for an exit at the same time.

The hunters are up here now as well, and two of them go one way while one goes the other; they’re trying to cut him off, and unless Dream can find a way down soon, it’s going to work.

He runs as fast as he dares to, covering as much ground as he can in his search before he realizes that he’s stuck with what he’s got right now.

Dream does the only thing that he can really think to do in the moment, with the sounds of feet on the stone behind him and yelling-

He vaults over the railing, kicks off of the wall on his way down, and hits the river with enough force to stun him for a few seconds. The water is wonderfully cold, he notes as air bubbles fall from his lips.

Shaking off the shock, Dream kicks up, breaking the surface of the river and swimming to the side of it so he can haul himself onto its bank. Small rocks bite into his hands and knees, but he pays them no mind as he staggers to his feet and takes off running.

He hears more bodies hit the water, only two, he’s pretty sure, as he darts away into the forest.

* * *

Dream appears to have vastly overestimated the hunters ability to keep up with him, to his surprise and relief.

That, or they’re no longer using arrows and rope to hunt and corral him- he really isn’t going to question it, not as long as it’s working in his favor. He’s not being hunted like a monster anymore, clearly, as shooting him off of the ladder would have solved everyone's problems in seconds, but he’s still being hunted. Or, he assumes he is; they hadn’t wanted to let him leave them, and as long as that’s the case then this is a manhunt in Dream’s eyes.

There’s no way that he’s staying.

His foot kicks absently at a pinecone as he walks, watching it bounce and roll until it finally goes out of reach of his foot enough for him to give it up.

Dream is cold, even in the midday sun.

His clothes, which are not designed for water or his extended survival, are soaked, and the farther he walks the colder it seems to get. One glance at the sun tells him that it’s the weather, and that his day is going to get that much harder. Dream groans when another chilly breeze hits him, wanting to slam his head into a tree for just picking a direction and not checking if he was heading towards something miserable. Look at him now- the one time he isn’t careful with a small detail and he’s freezing and it’s only going to get colder. Honestly, he has half a mind to turn around and pick a warmer direction to go off in, but he’s already lost valuable time, and the hunters can track him anyway. They can’t be far behind him at this point, if he’s slowed down due to cold. But, Dream thinks as he steps into a small patch of sunlight, didn’t they also get in the water?

As miserable as he is, Dream hopes that they’re more miserable in their wet clothes, as it’s their fault for making him jump and he’s spiteful about it.

Picking up the pace, Dream breaks into a light jog, mourning the moss of the sunlight when he hits the shadows once more. Trees provide decent cover, but they make the breezes seem that much colder when they block out the sun. Another patch of sun comes up, and Dream forces himself to keep jogging through it, no matter how much he wants to pause and soak up the limited warmth.

Time is the only advantage that he can claim as long as the hunters have those compasses, and he can’t afford to lose it just yet- even if he’s cold. Besides, he's had worse; he used to live underground without sunlight, he can manage to survive above ground with little bits of it.

He’s not weak.

Shivering and frustrated, Dream keeps going; he walks in sunlight when he can, pausing to take the time to quickly strip down to his undershirt to let it dry as he walks, but not even the sun can chase the chill away after a few hours, when it begins to set. The breeze is light but frigid, cutting through his sleeves to reach his skin like the cloth isn’t even there, and Dream is forced to pull his damp over-shirt back on to avoid freezing so much that he can’t move. Even then, he’s cold.

It sucks, frankly.

Bright patches of snow have begun to decorate the ground, making him frown at them even if he knew it was coming eventually. It’s too cold for him to not be walking directly into some sort of snow-covered area.

Even as he continues to walk, Dream knows that he won’t be able to last a night in this cold.

* * *

The sun is gone, and his body is painfully numb. Dream isn’t really walking anymore- his feet drag through the snow, leaving a clear trail to follow, but more snow is falling to cover his footsteps so he doesn’t worry too hard about it.

* * *

When he first sees the light, Dream assumes that it’s the glow of a creeper about to detonate, and he shuts his eyes against it. When nothing happens, he opens them.

There, only a few hundred yards away, is a small snow village; it’s lit with lanterns that burn brightly, and he can see trails of smoke that float up into the sky.

Snow villagers cover their faces, don’t they? To keep warm?

Dream smiles, hands coming up to trace at his mask.

His legs are numb and his fingers are burning from the cold, but Dream moves with renewed energy, closer to the village.

He’s desperate, and cold, and he still has the regeneration potion from earlier in his pocket, that’ll help with the frostbite, won’t it- he’s not thinking straight either; everything feels cold and sluggish and frustrating, and thoughts flit randomly through his mind as he stumbles through the snow.

Dream goes to move his foot, but it hits something, and his numb arms aren’t fast enough to catch him as he falls face first into the snow. Something sharp goes through his mask, cutting into his eyebrow, and Dream feels his own hot blood begin to pour out of the wound. It drips down his face, and it falls into the snow right in front of him, leaking through the eyeholes of his mask.

Sputtering, he sinks his hands into the cold white ground and forces himself up, hand swiping at the blood absently as he gets to his knees.

His mask, oddly enough, doesn’t follow him up. Dream is left blinking down at it's splintered pieces as he kneels in the darkness with snow swirling in the air around him, staring dumbly at his face.

It’s all he can do to watch the snow under him slowly turn pink and then red as the blood trails down his face and drips onto the ground- there’s nothing to catch it this time.

When Dream’s shaking hands come up to his face, his fingertips brush against skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. I Didn't Do It (Not In The Way That You're Thinking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late, I'm sorry!!! <3

Blending into the winter village should be stupidly easy without the mark of a dead man walking, and Dream decides that he’ll take everything in stride the way that a baby horse does when it first stands up.

As it turns out, the comparison is fairly accurate.

Somehow, between falling into the snow and realizing that his mask is now shattered in front of him, Dream’s legs have gone completely numb from where they uselessly rest under him in the snow. Trying to move them is like trying to move sand with his mind, and his wide eyes flick between his unresponsive legs and his mask like he's a wild animal; the mask is incriminating, even now as it lays in pieces in front of him, and Dream can’t even find the strength to haul himself out of the snow to get away from the thing that's ruined his life. It sits there, so small, so broken, and yet Dream can feel his heart beginning to pound as he sluggishly tries to push himself up and away from it.

After failing and almost falling into the snow, he stops trying. The cold numbness is spreading, and he knows that that's bad, but it's hard to care. Dream never thought that he'd be getting out of this alive; getting his mask off before his final moments is all that he could've wanted, really.

It all seems so small now, he thinks as his eyes stick to a particularly large piece of who he is. Blood is still dripping down his face, but his arms are too numb for him to bother trying to wipe it off. The mask is smeared with blood, finally shattered from all of the abuse of his knocking against it, but Dream has never felt more trapped. Freedom is so close, and yet he can’t so much as twitch towards it. Not that he ever expected to get freedom-

He stares down at the eyes of the mask, and they stare back.

(Maybe, just maybe, he'd ruined his own life that night. It's not a healthy thought, and there's nothing to be done about it, but Dream can't help but wonder if he'd still be here, in a pile of snow, if he'd just kept his mouth shut and let it happen-)

Snow crunches beneath someone’s shoes as they come up from behind him, and a hand settles slowly on his shoulder, like its owner knows the effects of touching him directly and is weary.

Dream jerks forwards in his panic to get away, crashing into the bloody snow and the remains of his mask, and he doesn’t get up.

* * *

He wakes up sluggishly, swaying in someone’s arms as they carry him, and he doesn’t fight it. He doesn't have the energy to care, and as long as he's not about to be left in the snow, he doesn't need to muster the energy to think of what's going to happen.

A door creaks open, and light washes across his closed eyes.

The blast of heat is almost painful to his numb skin, and he flinches backwards from it on instinct as what feels like fire begins to lick at his limbs. Really, he knows that he's just dangerously cold right now, and that the heat isn't going to kill him, but it still hurts enough for him to grit his teeth and try to shy away from it.

“Sleep,” someone says softly as they rest him on what feels like a bed.

Dream goes to protest, blinks twice as he loses his words, and can no longer open his eyes before his head even hits the pillow.

He dreams of fire and a rocky ceiling that glows faintly, and then he dreams of nothing but a blade to his throat and cries that turn into enraged shrieks, no longer human in their pitch. It all fades eventually, and he dreams of nothing at all.

* * *

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and when Dream blinks his eyes open to a rough wooden ceiling, he isn’t even sure what’s happened. Dream doesn't remember anything past getting his mask shattered, even if he knows that something must have happened to get him here. A few precious moments are just spent with him lying there, seconds ticking by into minutes as he stares blankly at the ceiling and tries to find the energy to move his numb body and investigate his surroundings. He no longer feels extremely cold, at least, but that doesn’t mean that he’s in the clear. The room is too hot in the way that tells him that he’s probably too cold; if Dream is remembering things right, he’s in a snowy area. Those aren’t known for extreme heat, even indoors, but they are known for frostbite and polar bears.

Which means that he’s either gotten frostbite, or he was very close to getting it and should consider himself lucky that something took him out of the snow before he did. A small wiggle of his fingers confirms that they're still there, and he lets out a breath.

Dream’s never been lucky in his life, but he'll reluctantly accept this and not look a gift-horse in the mouth this one time.

Despite his exhaustion, Dream forces himself to sit up with a low groan and a few mumbled curses. The blankets, which had been pulled up to his chin, pool around his hips in a fluffy pile, and it looks almost comical. There's so many, all different colors and all very fluffy, and it seems so odd to fall asleep in the snow and wake up under a mound of blankets.

Dream counts five total, and he stares down at them in confusion as his mind tries to get through the rush of blurry memories. He flops his numb hands into the pile in his lap experimentally, watching his hand sink nearly out of sight as it drops into the fluff pile. It seems a little excessive to him, but maybe that’s just because he sleeps in trees if there's not a bed. If he really thinks about it, his standard of living has taken a hit lately, and everything has been going steadily down hill for a while.

(If he'd let it happen, he'd be eating the first meal with the other Dreamers around now-)

He needs to leave.

It's hard to concentrate on anything in particular while he's this groggy, but that thought rings in his head like a bell, echoing but never going away as his eyes try to take in everything around him. Blearily, Dream forces his frigid fingers up to rub at his face, hopefully waking him up a little bit more so he can think clearly, but they never meet his skin.

Instead his numb fingertips tap against something smooth and hard and cold in the way that only an object in winter can be, and something in his chest cracks miserably.

His fingers, freezing cold and shaky, fly around his face and he can’t help but choke out a small miserable sob when they continuously tap against something that is decidedly not his skin. 

He’d been so _free_ , even though he’d been unable to move from his chains, they’d been off. Dream had finally felt the skin of his face after weeks, had bled freely and not suffocated with it, had felt wind against his cheeks and nose-

And none of it was real, in the end. 

Letting his body flop back onto whatever he’s laying on, Dream squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fists as he tries to hold in tears.

There’s nothing to cry about- having a nice dream for once is nothing to cry about. And besides, he thinks bitterly as he lays there, they get itchy while they dry because he can't wipe them away. Dream shuts his eyes and lets the tears clump his lashes together instead.

“Snow man,” someone says softly as the blankets are pulled back up to his chin.

His eyes shoot open, quickly latching onto the person who’s leaning over him to tuck the blankets around him once more. Dream tiredly fights to sit up, thrashing weakly and trying to scoot away, and the person lets him go without comment.

When he’s put enough distance between them, Dream examines the person cautiously; they let him do this as well.

If he’s being honest, they look more like a pillow than a person; the blankets may just be the running theme of this village.

They’re wearing heavy snow gear, covered head-to-toe in fur and fluff and thick fabric, and their face is covered with goggles and some sort of mask that covers from the nose down to protect against the cold.

They haven't killed him yet- why wouldn't they have killed him or turned him in?

Slowly, Dream reaches up to feel at what he’d assumed is a mask, but when his fingers pull even slightly, it rises from his skin without pain. It all clicks then, and the relief that hits him almost knocks him back down to the bed. He’s wearing snow goggles- the kind that are used to prevent snow blindness and protect eyes from the cold.

He’s free, and no one here knows what he is.

A heavy winter outfit is dropped into his lap, jerking him out of his thoughts, and the villager points at it, then at him, and nods. He doesn't move, just staring at them as his mind races with all of the possibilities of what he could do next. Probably assuming that he missed the message, the villager mimes putting on the winter jacket, movements slow and pointedly simple. Taking the hint, Dream swings his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stands up before reaching for the hem of his green over-shirt.

* * *

As he gets dressed, he learns a few things. The process of getting information is slow due to the language barrier, and it can be hard to mime certain things, but he manages to get a few small pieces of information, and it's enough to make him giddy. Though, to be fair, Dream is just in a good mood right now; even though his face is still covered, he has the option for it to not be- he has a choice. It's been a while since he's had a choice in anything more than if he's going to run left or right.

The villager huffs to grab his attention, and mimes snow falling before pointing to him, and then outside.

From what he can piece together, someone had found him in the snow, and brought him here. That, or the villager wants him to leave while it's snowing. The language barrier is hard to pass sometimes, and Dream can only depend of context clues when the message gets muddied like this. As if to clear up the confusion, a  gloved finger touches his chest briefly, like it's pointing to his heart and giving it a name.

"Snow man."

The same finger then points to the villager's chest, and they speak what Dream can only assume to be their own name. Once more, the finger trails back to him and the villager hums.

"Snow man," they say while nodding, looking to him for approval of the name by cocking their head.

He… doesn’t correct them. Dream’s not even sure what his name is, if he can claim to be his own person and abandon the general name that had been given to him.

He’s not sure if he’ll live long enough for any of it to matter.

The villager has no idea that Dream is having thoughts going the speed of light, instead continuing to mime and ramble at him. It snaps Dream out of his head, and he's careful to pay attention and try to decipher the movements as he pulls the coat on.

Currently, the villager is grumbling loudly about who he assumes found him. It's an odd mix of miming and the native tongue that Dream can't understand, like the villager keeps forgetting that they need to show rather than tell, but Dream's starting to kind of understand it.

This man, who his villager guide talks about with a chastising tone and scrambled words, was apparently very frustrating to deal with. The entire time he's spoken of, the villager is waving their arms in movements fueled by pure frustration and irritation, though it doesn't seem like it's in an angry way. More like if you have a kid who just won't listen to you, and they end up being right but they still should have listened.

“Blade,” his guide grumbles, making Dream’s head jerk over to them at the word in a language that he understands.

_“Blade?”_ he asks, fingers pausing from where they'd been struggling to button up the fluffy coat over the soft green sweater.

“Blade,” they nod, before continuing to rant, somehow even louder. It leaves him unsure if 'Blade' is a person or not, but he assumes that they are; after all, Dream’s name is Snow man, so he can assume that names are given differently here.

So far, all that Dream’s got on this is that Blade refused to wear the winter clothes, didn’t seem all that affected by winter, and was pretty quick to leave as soon as possible, despite everyone wanting them to stay until he woke up.

Dream frowns as he pulls his gloves on and readjusts his snow-goggles before the villager takes notice of him being dressed appropriately and opens the door to the cold outside air.

* * *

The villager is someone of many talents, as it turns out, because they go from being his caretaker to his guide easily. The tour isn't rushed, despite the sun beginning to set over the snow, and Dream gets to see every little bit of the village that's taken him in without question.

(His mask must have been buried in the snow by the time that someone found him. It's the only explanation for him waking up at all, or even just waking up a free man under fluffy blankets in a warm house.)

The village is small and large at the same time, which sounds confusing but it's simple:

There are children, and those children build very sturdy snow forts everywhere they can, as they have an unlimited supply of snow at their disposal and endless time to do so. The village is small, all wooden houses with cobblestone accents, but the children have nearly doubled the size of it with their efforts, which makes it seem a lot bigger than it really is.

There’s even torches in the forts, lighting them up and acting as a beacon to travelers-

And hunters.

Dream’s quiet contemplativeness of this tiny village shatters the second he hears the first complaint that’s carried by the wind.

"It's _cold_ -"

"Shut. Up."

"Guys, come on-"

Sure enough, the hunters show up not even a few minutes later. Having heard them as well, his villager guide pauses in the tour and they wait together, watching three bodies trudge towards them through the snow that's become knee-deep in the few hours that Dream had been sleeping.

They arrive in a loud slew of grumbled complaining and cursing and chiding, and Dream's feet shift into a more balanced stance without him telling them to. His mind is screaming at him to run, to get as far away as possible before they tie him up like a disobedient llama again, but he forces himself to stay calm and wait with the villager. Only people with something to hide run, guilty people, and Dream's not innocent but he can't let them know that.

Dream lets himself be approached by them and takes comfort in the goggles over his eyes and the cloth mask over his mouth and nose.

“Sorry, but,” the hooded hunter calls out from a few yards away as he digs through his pockets before pulling out Dream’s wanted poster, “have you seen our friend?”

The hunters look between Dream and the villager expectantly, and Dream realizes with immense relief that the only difference between them is the color of their winter coats. There's nothing incriminating about wearing green verses the dark blue of the villagers coat, and he smiles under his face covering.

“Friend… wanted?” the villager asks skeptically, looking at Dream like he’ll be able to translate it any better. Dream can’t blame the poor villager; it’s obviously a wanted poster for a bounty, and not being able to read it wouldn’t help at all, he’d imagine.

“I mean, technically _yes_ , but not really-”

“I’m cold,” buts in Sapnap with a whine, despite his long sleeves that are thick to the touch and the gloves over his hands. It’s true that it’s not what Dream is wearing in this harsh climate, but it’s still not nothing. It’s certainly more than he’d started out with.

Dream pauses, mind screeching to a halt as his eyes stare directly at the hunter. Sapnap, his name is Sapnap- how does he know that?

It's possible that he'd just heard it at some point and accidentally remembered it.

Right?

* * *

The hunters stay a night, and are given the same tour that Dream was, which he follows along for because he wants to know what they know. This has the unfortunate side affect of the villager guide pushing him towards the group like a parent trying to set up a playdate and them wanting to get to know him, which he then twists and uses to his advantage. Getting information is easy when they want to know you, and you can pretend that you're just a weary traveler like them; it's underhanded, but effective.

A lot of the information is useless, anyways.

Not all of it is though.

* * *

They're gathering supplies, but Sapnap keeps knocking the stupid magic compass against his hand like he can beat it into working. It's an opportunity, and Dream takes it gracefully with a falsely curious tilt of his head.

“What’s the compass even do?” Dream asks, making sure to mask his voice slightly as he reaches for it. Unsurprisingly, the hunter doesn't let him hold it. He does, however, hold it closer for Dream to examine it.

“Oh, it tracks our friend,” the one who's introduced himself as Bad says with a smile. It dims significantly when Dream hums in response, "it's broken."

And it is. The small red needle spins in rapid circles, like it's lost its target and is trying to find it again.

"We'll get it fixed," Bad says stubbornly.

Dream looks around at the small village, thinks of his mask buried somewhere in the deep snow, and smiles to himself.

“Good luck with that.”

* * *

Not all of their time together is spent gathering information, though he's not sure when his goal shifted into anything else.

Dream feels dirty, like he's deceiving them, but he still accepts their invites and hunts with them when they pause in their search for the person right next to them for half of the day. He doesn't even ask important questions half of the time, just choosing to screw around and get his fill of human interaction.

It's been a long time since he's had this much fun with other people, and he tries his best to drown out the guilt as he notices the hunters checking their busted compasses more and more. Distracting them becomes a past time, though he's not distracting them from their search as much as he is from their own unhappiness about him not being trackable anymore.

“Oh, George!” Dream calls as he chases the man with a handful of snow, wheezing out cackles as the hunter is question shrieks and keeps running. It's comical to witness, as he's much shorter than Dream is, and he's almost forced to jump through the snow to move even half as fast. Bad and Sapnap are laughing off to the side, trying to build their own snow hut like the children and failing miserably due to inexperience and not packing the snow tight enough. As if to avenge their friend, the fragile roof caves in and covers Sapnap in snow.

* * *

They're hunting now, though the group is too loud to catch the rabbits that they want for the soup that they've never tried. Despite this, Dream's still caught three, and it's three more than the hunters have combined .

"I feel like I don't have a _face_ anymore," George says jokingly as he turns to face his friends. Despite all of his complaining, Sapnap hadn't accepted a majority of the offered winter clothes. Bad hadn't accepted any of them, but he's not human sot he village let it slide.

“Imagine not having a face-” Sapnap laughs, despite his own wind-chapped cheeks and nose, "couldn't be me."

Dream laughs, resisting the urge to bring his gloved hand up to his own face.

* * *

They visit the cleric, who tells them that he can't do anything about the broken compasses unless they switch the target of it. Dream tries not to be visibly excited that the hunters have officially lost him, and this time he's thankful that his face is covered so he doesn't have to hide his smile.

His relief lasts about as long as Sapnap's temper, in the end.

The hunter has been kicking at the snow roughly, muttering curses while his friends do their own form of moping, and Dream has been silently watching the three of them cautiously; he's not sure that he's ever seen them legitimately angry, and he can't help but wonder what exactly the bounty on him was to make them so upset about losing it for good.

There’s a solid thunk when Sapnap goes to kick up more snow, and something flies through the air and nearly hits Dream, who catches it reflexively and then drops it just as fast.

A large chunk of his mask stares up at him, and Dream can only stare back at what used to be his face as it lies there in the snow. Dried blood is caked to it, and the scar that goes through his eyebrow almost itches the longer that Dream stares down at it.

“Oh no,” Bad whispers as he gently takes the shard into his hands.

“I hope he’s okay-” Dream starts, unable to hold it in as he sees the hunter’s shoulders shake. They've told him a little about himself, but in a way that makes it seem like they were his friends, probably so that Dream would help them look. They made him seem nice, and they sounded like they cared; if he were anyone else, he probably would have fallen for it.

The other hunters rush over, with Sapnap throwing a quick 'sorry' to Dream who just absently nods and stares at the shard of his face in Bad's hands. George gasps when he sees it, but Dream is buy watching Sapnap. Sapnap, who shakes and grits his teeth and looks scarily angry, enough to make Dream want to step away from him.

“Someone- someone fucking killed him-”

“What-”

Sapnap's voice goes deathly quiet as he lowly says,

“They’re next.”

Part of Dream wants to rejoice that they think he’s dead, and he can get away. The other, much larger part of him, is scared and concerned and he knows that he has to either leave now or blend in long enough for the hunters to leave.

"We can't track whoever did it," George says quietly, a voice of reason to his friend's angry threats.

Bad's finger slowly traces over the blood as he says, "yes, we can."

Dream leaves them, breaking out into a run the second he's out of sight. There's no way that that isn't his blood, and the hunters are either going to figure that out and realize who he is, or hunt him down for supposedly killing their bounty.

Either way, the cleric is closed for the day, and they'll have to wait until tomorrow to get anything done. Dream has around twelve hours to get everything he needs and get out.

* * *

The hunters are talking to the cleric, and Dream is running out of time. 

He's gathering wood, as much as he can reasonable carry, and he's nearly ready to go. All he can do is hope that he gets a head start. Bitterness over being free for such a short time threatens to choke him, but Dream shoves it down and focuses on not slipping on the icy village path as he races towards the house he's been staying in.

He'd been free. It's obvious now that Dream shouldn't have stayed as long as he did, he should have gotten up and kept running the second he realized the mask was gone. But what was the use of running when he was supposed to be safe and free? Dream had stayed because he thought that he could, and this is what it's gotten him. Hunted for yet another thing that he hasn't done-

The clanging of the alarm bell jerks him back into awareness, the wood that he’d gathered earlier dropping from his arms as the sound rings in his ears. Then, as if the bell was the opening note of an orchestra, screams fill the air.

A crossbow bolt hits the snow next to his feet seconds later, and Dream runs as fast as he can and hopes that everyone else is doing the same. The hunters are still with the cleric, who's shop has sturdy doors that can be barred from the inside. They should be alright until this is over, or until there comes a moment when they can get away without being seen.

A hand closes around his wrist and roughly pulls him back before it swings him around and he flies into the snowy ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty rushed, but this was just meant to be a filler for the next chapter! Sorry!!! <3


	13. Tag, You're It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER HAS TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! This chapter includes sexual harassment and some non-consensual groping. It doesn't get too bad, but I felt that I should still place a warning! <3

The snow breaks his fall in a flurry of white powder and chilling ice, but it’s only seconds before he’s being pulled back up by the hood of his jacket and spun around fast enough to make him dizzy. The word blurs into white and red and black and grey, swirling together incomprehensibly as he's jerked around like a child's toy given to a careless kid. Someone rips the small sword he'd gotten from his guide out of the holder for it on his thigh, harsh enough that Dream feels the thick leather snap against the sharp blade. Dream is then shoved back into the snow face-first, and he scrambles to get up before he's jerked around like that again. It's not exactly pleasant, and he'd really like to avoid it and figure out what the absolute hell is going on.

He manages to shive his way out of the snow pile, fighting to suck in air. The snow from the ground has caked into the fabric covering his mouth and nose, cutting his breathing down to almost nothing, and his fingers fight to pull it from his face so he can fill his lungs again. After a few shaky attempts, his clunky and gloved fingers catch enough for him to try to remove it. The black fabric falls away, and Dream sucks in a breath, shaky and uncoordinated in its desperation, but relieving all the same. A hand closes around his hood again, yanking him up and keeping him there this time. Dream hands limply, like a small cat, and continues to suck air into his starved lungs as the bottom half of his face goes numb with panic and cold.

He's set down and spun around before he's grabbed roughly again, this time so he's facing the asshole who's treating him like a toy. The man is large, dressed in dark colors and leathers, and he's so obviously armed to the teeth that Dream doesn't bother trying to kick at his knees to run away.

“Well, aren’t you pretty?”

He flails at that; it's not the same as with the man with the ring on his finger that one night, but it's close enough to make his heart pound in his ears.

Gloved hands that aren’t his own roughly yank his goggles off of his eyes, and Dream slams them shut when his senses are suddenly flooded with the blinding white of sunlight reflecting off of snow and ice.

He misses his mask right now, unabashedly terrified to have even a small part of his face bare to the world.

Dream forces his eyes open, averting them to the ground where they catch on a bright splatter of red staining the snow. He shuts them again.

“Found something you like?” a new voice calls roughly as he hangs in the man's grip like a puppet with its strings cut. The grip abruptly shifts to his wrist, twice as strong as it digs into his skin like a cuff. Dream feels too cold, like he's not wearing anything, and his mind is screaming at him to fight and run. He's unable to even shift his feet in the snow, frozen in place as the two men talk about him like he's not there.

“Sure did, ain’t he a good one?”

Rough laughter rings through the air like poured gravel, and the hand on his wrist tightens enough to make him wince.

"You'll have to come back for 'im later then."

Rope is tied tightly around his wrists in a complicated series of knots, and Dream is left weak-kneed in the center of town as the raid continues around him.

* * *

As much as Dream wishes, they don’t forget about him.

It's obvious that they don't in the way that every time he bothers to look around, he makes eye-contact with one of them and they stare back before driving their axes into the vulnerable wooden houses around them.

It's obvious in the way that one will occasionally come to stand around and just watch him like he's an exotic animal, not saying anything even as Dream shifts in discomfort and turns away.

It's obvious in the way that, hours after it started, the raid is over, and the pillagers are coming back to collect him with blood splattered on their faces and leers. They surround him like they all want to get as close as possible without it being a hindrance to the person next to them.

“The sweet thing waited for us,” one hums as he steps closer and grabs Dream’s arm to force him to his feet. He stumbles, but makes an effort not to fall when he catches the look that his brief stumble gets him. Still, after kneeling in the snow, his legs are too numb for him to walk properly, and the pillager takes great delight is wrapping a hand around his waist and hauling him up onto the beast that one of the others is riding.

Dream shuts his eyes, and he thinks.

* * *

  
  


The beast is fast, and the stamina of the men in the group is strong; it's no longer cold when Dream opens his eyes to the world again, a plan only half-formed in his tired mind. He'd been unable to focus with the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and he's suffering for it, but not enough to deter him from running the second he gets the chance to. Night had fallen and passed and the sun has risen into a new day, but no monster had dared to even glance in his direction as the pillagers held formation and kept walking onwards through the darkness.

The heavy winter coat is suffocating in the pleasant weather, but Dream's fingers freeze on the first button when he catches the looks that he's getting from the men.

"Don't let us stop you," one crows mock-pleasantly, earning himself scattered laughter from his friends, "fuck, we'll even help if you'd like-"

Dream forces his fingers to move, jerking at the buttons every time they didn't immediately come undone under his shaky motions. The men around him watch with delight as he rips the last one clean off of the coat on accident, hooting and hollering exaggeratedly as they stare at him expectantly. He no longer wants to take the coat off, but he dreads what might happen if he doesn't, so he forces it down his stiff shoulders and off of his shaking arms before folding it tightly to his chest. It's still too hot, but he's not gong to remove the fluffy green sweater unless it catches fire on his body.

Dream is cut off from the rising sun by the thick shadows created by the leafy canopy above him, and it feels like he's lost something important- like he's just gone past a point and he's never going to be able to go back and know

* * *

In the distance, an outpost scrapes against the cloudy blue sky and rips itself into the soft grassy ground, standing out like an infected wound against the trees of the land. It's ugly, yet Dream can't help but stare at it as he's forced closer and closer to its shadow. A rough cough gets stuck in his throat, but letting it out would be a death sentence so he holds it back; if these men don't know he's magic, he's more likely to get out of this in one piece. Still, holding it in in almost painful, and his eyes water with the strain of it. Taking notice, one of the men reaches his gloves hand out and pats his cheek patronizingly before smiling and looking away again. The heavy taste of dark magic is in the air, but it's not strong enough to burn his throat or put him out of commission, so he ignores it and the implications that it brings for the time being and instead focuses on the position of the sun in the sky; he's got roughly four hours before it begins to get dark.

Four hours is both far too much time and far too little, in Dream's opinion.

A lot can happen in four hours, just as a lot can happen in a second. An arrow can be fired, a flame sparked, a mask placed.

As if on cue, the beast lumbers slowly to a stop, and the sunlight is only reaching half of Dream's body as he sits partially in the shadow of the outpost. The shadows seem cold, even as he sweats under the thick green sweater he's got on, and something like terror is running through his blood. Wide hands slide under his sweater and snake up the sides of his black undershirt before grabbing his waist tightly and dragging him from the back of the beast, giving his body a rough squeeze before letting him go in favor of grabbing the end of the rope that ties his hands.

It's similar to when the hunters tied him like this, but it's so, so different.

(The hunters, Dream, thinks, were kind; he knew it then and he knows it now, but kindness never comes before a job.)

This time, he's tugged along like he's an unruly prisoner. At least the trip isn't long; his legs are tingling from having fallen asleep, and are shaking under him because of it. He's dragged out of the shadows, and sunlight temporarily blinds him enough for him to not see a rock and stumble slightly.

"I'll help you walk."

Iron hands steady him by his hips and slide up to his arms, and Dream wishes more than anything that the man had just let him fall.

Then, as if hearing his wish, he's tossed to the ground with little ceremony; halfway through, it feels like he's slammed into a wall; time seems to slow down like honey before it speeds up again, and he hits the floor, barely catching himself with his hands as his brain struggles to catch up with everything. He realizes that he isn't touching grass as splinters drive into his palms, easily cutting through his thin gloves, but the pain of it is delayed. And while the pain of it cuts through the fog in his mind, it's not enough for him to become fully aware again. For a few seconds, all he can do is blink at the worn floor in front of his face, sprawled out even as he tries to get to his knees, which ache from the impact with the floor. 

He feels slow, like it's harder for him to move- there's no energy left in his body.

The door to the cage swings shut and the sound of it locking jerks him into awareness again, but he's not able to turn around fast enough to stop it from happening. Knowing he's missed it, Dream slums slightly and forces himself into a sitting position in the corner of the cage.

The cage is enchanted to keep whatever's in it docile- that has to be it. Dream can still breathe, he just can't seem to find the energy to move. Even when he can, it's slow and unhurried, like a snake without heat to keep it awake, and the amount of frustration that courses through him nearly burns as he sits there and stares at the torn knees of his pants. This complicates things; standing takes a lot of effort now, and that means that trying to get out by most means is no longer an option. He can't kick at the bars, or climb out, or kick the door open.

A sun-warmed hand comes in front of his face, and Dream doesn't hesitate for more than a moment before taking it. It sits in his palm calmly, rough and jagged and glinting in the sun, and Dream doesn't try to let go.

The iron guardian watches him with one eye, a crack slicing through the other one, and Dream watches it back as he listens to the pillagers shouting to each other.

* * *

The sun is beginning set, and Dream is still beside the iron guardian, sitting silently on the floor with his eyes shut and his back against the bars. He's been left alone since he was deposited on the floor hours ago, and something in his mind is skeptical of the relative peace.

Because life loves to prove him wrong, something hits the wooden bars of his cage a few times, and his eyes shoot open in response to the noise. The crossbow bolt that had been hitting the bars retreats, taking the noise with it.

“Come here, pretty,” someone, who can only assume the same man from before calls, waiting for Dream to follow his orders and come within reach. Instead of listening, he huddles back, staying in the opposite corner of the cage and out of reach. Beside him, the iron guardian shifts to its full height like it's trying to seem dangerous, and Dream flinches at the grinding of its rusty limbs. He can't help but wonder how long it's been here, left to the mercy of the elements as it slowly rusts away in a cage.

(He can't help but wonder if that's what's going to happen to him, too, if that's why the iron guardian is so accepting of him in it's space.

Usually, the guardians only protect villagers, as they usually don't have any magic to protect themselves. It's a mutually beneficial relationship, as the villagers will usually return the favor with general upkeep of the guardian's metallic body. Dream, even without his mask, doesn't come across as a villager to beings who know how to tell the difference, and he certainly doesn't have anything that could help this guardian. The guardian is doing this on its own, an act of kindness that Dream hadn't seen coming, but is grateful for anyway.)

Strong fingers close around the cuff of his sweater, just in reach from where the man has moved along the outside of the cage to get closer, and Dream is pulled to the bars so quickly that his shoulder slams into them and he lets out a small cry at the pain of it. Gloved fingers, always gloved, cruelly clench around his jaw and force his face closer.

"You listen to me when I'm talking to you."

The other hand releases his arm and slides up his side again, pressing closely enough to make Dream squirm even through the effects of the cage. The hold on his face tightens, and he stops.

"Shame you've got all these layers on," the man leers as his hands catch on the sweater with every downwards motion, "you must be burning up under all this."

Dream isn't sure that he's ever felt more cold, not even when he was face-first in the snow with a freshly freed face. It all seems like it happened years and hours ago, a confusing mix of it being so recent and so old that his frantic mind skips over it completely. There's other things to focus on, especially when the man's hand slips under his undershirt and grates up his bare skin like it's unsanded wood. The material of the gloves is the only thing keeping him in his body, but Dream almost wishes that they weren't there.

(Possible futures could include escape attempts, an undeniable resource, but Dream really just doesn't want to be here in this moment-)

Eventually, the man shoves him back, and he hits the floor of the cage in an uncoordinated heap, elbows slamming into the wood hard enough to make him wince in pain. By the time that he can really focus again, the man is long gone. The iron guardian's body is no longer warm from the sun, but when it holds him tightly Dream still finds comfort in the action. They stay like that, and he doesn’t try to get loose, even when the tears in the metal plates pinch and tear at the yarn of his sweater.

They both need this, he thinks.

* * *

A hand closes roughly around his ankle and jerks him a few inches across the floor, startling Dream out of his already restless sleep. His eyes haven't even open all of the way before he kicks out sharply, catching something with the full force of his panicked reaction. There's a loud curse, and his ankle is released immediately, which allows him to bring his legs to his chest. Dream pants on the floor, terrified and in the dark as he sees the silhouettes of people outside of his cage.

"You killed him," someone snarls, their hands wrapping around the bars that separate them from Dream. His eyes are slow to adjust to the darkness, but he could recognize that voice anywhere, no matter how angry.

For the first time in a long while, Dream sees the hunter as a threat, and has no doubt in his mind that Sapnap would hurt him if he could reach him.

Dream stares at him from his small area of safety, knees to his chest as he looks out from behind the bars that are keeping him safe and sees the other two hunters as well. They both stare back, George stone-cold and Bad with a quiet sort of anger that Dream's never seen from him.

"What?" Dream asks roughly as he tries to climb to his feet without getting in range of Sapnap's fury.

Rather than answering him, the hunters all turn to Bad, who pulls something out of his pocket carefully before turning it for Dream to see. The shard of the mask is flashed like it's a winning set of cards, something precious that needs to be kept safe, and Dream jerks towards it without even meaning to, instantly fucking himself over.

(The mask has always been a silent protection against the world, and though he's free from it, Dream wishes more than anything that he had it back now. It marks him as dangerous, as something not to touch- he misses it like a limb, and its absence is hard to ignore.)

The hunters take the movement as confirmation for murder, and Sapnap lashes out at the bars suddenly enough to make him flinch back, fists slamming into them hard enough to bruise.

"Why?" he demands angrily, teeth flashing. Bad, usually the one to hold the others back, only looks away at the aggression, hands clutching the mask tightly. The silence hands between them as Dream slowly remembers that they think he's dead, and just how happy he was to let them think that.

To keep his cover, Dream considers lying, but knows that he'll be caught eventually. The best way to get out of this, he thinks as he eyes them, is to tell half-truths and hope that they don't figure anything out from what little he can say without completely giving himself away.

"He ruined my life," is what comes out, and it's true; Dream ruined his own life, and he's happy to let that life die away. The hunters are less happy than he is with the idea.

"Really, because he saved mine," George says icily in response. It's unexpected, certainly, and it takes him a few moments to recall when it even happened. 

"We had fun with you while you got away with murder," Bad speaks up, sounding just as icy and furious as George, "we threw snow, and we should've been throwing _rocks_ because, I swear, Dream wouldn't hurt anyone, and you _killed_ him-"

Despite his best wishes, Dream feels his eyes begin to tear up as mixed emotions wash over him; frustration is first, followed by fear and so many other emotions that it makes his head spin with them. The iron guardian creaks as it moves its hand to brush his arm, but it doesn't move to defend him.

"Why would you do this?" George asks him finally, stepping up to his cage to be next to Sapnap.

"It was killing me, slowly, but I regret doing it," Dream admits, hoping that they'll understand what he means. There's almost nothing that he wouldn't give to have a mask right now, to not be in a cage because someone thought he was 'pretty' enough to take, surrounded by people who've been hunting him for weeks. If he survives this, Dream is sure that he'll never see the hunters the same way again.

Unfortunately, they don't get what he's trying to say.

"It- Dream is- was a _he_ , not an it, and he'd never attacked without reason before-"

Somehow, he knows that's not true, but he doesn't remember it well. Just flashes of rage and inky skin and stars and his mask-

A bag is dropped down from the open top of the cage, starting him, but Dream doesn’t take his eyes off of the hunters that he still can’t see very clearly. They take their attention off of him to stare just past him, making him hesitantly turn to see what's caught their attention. Behind him in a man who looks like royalty, covered in blood and gold and loot from what has to be the outpost, though Dream didn't hear anything that indicated an attack. The man is just standing there, braided hair messy and face blank as he looks at the hunters and raises his eyebrows in challenge.

“Technoblade, we told you not to do anything!”

Something sharp slams into the bars, cutting halfway through them, and Dream jerks around in time to watch as Sapnap jerks the axe free and readies himself for another swing.

“And I disobeyed.”

Dream, not knowing how to get out without taking any damage but prepared to try, digs through the bag, finds that it’s full of his belongings from the village, and completely loses focus as he keeps digging until he finds what he’s looking for. He knows that it's here, even if he doesn't remember how he got it, knows because he nearly dropped it when he first found it-

His fingers catch on what he's searching for just as Sapnap manages to snap the cage open and snatch the strap of the bag. It skids away, leaving a spray of useful items in it's wake, but Dream's fingers are securely around the targeted item, which stays in his hands as the cover of the bag is ripped away like bloody bandages off of a dirty wound.

A mask stares up at him from his shaky hands, dim without the shine of enchantments on it. And he feels like crying a little bit as his fingers clench around the wooden sides enough to irritate the splinters in his hands.

Still, he presses it to his face. There's nothing to hold it there without the curse of binding that stuck to the other one, so it's all he can to to hold it to his face with stiff fingers as he lets the feeling of being hidden flow over him.

“Dream?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, this is almost 4,000 words and my brain still is screaming that it's too rushed,,, <3


	14. A Spoon Is Only As Dangerous As The Person Holding It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3!!!

The night feels too quiet as his name stretches through the air, a soft yet incredulous hesitancy behind it that Dream pays no mind to as he desperately presses the mask to his face and holds it there like it’s going to shatter if he lets go. It sounds like disbelief, like the hunter can’t believe that he’s alive and in front of them again.

He can’t believe it either, though his feelings on the situation appear to be very different.

George is skeptical, even as he peers closer into the busted cage and his face changes from something carefully cold to something carefully blank that cracks even as Dream watches him.

“Dream? But-”

“Yeah, it’s him,” the man behind him says like he’s explaining basic math to a professor, like it’s obvious and they should all move past it already to save time. Dream faces him again, staring at him through the holes of the mask; there’s something about this man that sits oddly with him- not wrongly, as Dream doesn’t feel like somethings tearing at his throat, and there is no dark magic on his tongue, but it’s like he’s not talking to just a human. Like the man, covered in blood and gold and weaponry, is something more, something worse.

Something like him.

Magic senses magic, after all, and despite being with one of his kind, Dream tenses up. This same man who feels so different just took out an outpost for the thrill of it, he’s pretty sure, and his recklessness makes him dangerous. Being something other and hungry for blood isn’t uncommon, but the ability to suppress it is often the only thing that separates them from the monsters that lurk in the night. Dream himself is called one of those monsters, and even if the title is deserved, he doubts that what he’s done holds a candle to what this man has accomplished. As if taunting him, the bloody man’s crossbow remains loaded and wet with splattered blood that he begins trying to halfheartedly wipe away with his even more bloody hands, uncaring of Dream’s watchful eyes on him.

“How would you know that?” George asks, apparently still stuck on the man knowing it was Dream all along and leaving the rest of them to flounder in the dark. It’s obvious that the hunters have no idea what this man is, or maybe they just don’t care. Maybe they can see how outmatched they are, and that’s why this man isn’t the one being tracked across the world.

Dream is bitter about it, even though he tries not to be.

In his thoughts, he hadn’t realized that he’d been staring in the man’s direction long enough to get his attention. The huff startles him out of it, bloody hands checking the loading mechanisms without even looking at the crossbow, eyes solely on Dream.

“I won’t out you, don’ give me that look.”

And, just like that, the hunters turn back to stare at Dream for an explanation, who’s only focus is on keeping the mask to his face with his uselessly shaky hands while his mind screams at him for just sitting there like a lazy ocelot as he’s indirectly outed by the man who just said he wouldn’t do it. For fucks sake, it’s always him who’s in trouble or getting hunted or getting thrown into cages. And then, for what feels like the first time in forever, the wind doesn’t touch his stinging eyes and cheeks, and he can breathe a little easier with the lack of its harsh touch, but he can’t think any clearer with all of the attention on him-

The man sighs loudly, drawing the attention back onto himself and then looking mildly uncomfortable under all of it.

“I found the nerd in a snowdrift on my way into town and dumped him on the villagers, because I’m a good samaritan,” the man admits sarcastically as he finally holsters his gore-splattered crossbow. Even with the weapon pointing at the ground now, Dream is uneasy. He’s uneasy about the man having any access to it at all, really.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sapnap asks, seemingly in shock like George had been, but Dream can see it fading fast as relief and anger war across his expression.

(Honestly, he’d be angry too if he was hunting something and someone just let it go; especially if he’d then had to come pick it up from a dangerous area like a lost dog. It’s a lot of effort for a simple job, no matter the pay, and Dream hopes that it’s worth it to the hunters.

He hopes that whatever way this ends is worth it to them, even though a large part of him snarls at the thought of anything being worth the cost of his own life.)

“Why would I? He’s not my problem, and I thought you were smart enough to figure it out. It was obvious.”

The Iron Guardian shifts and lays a heavy hand next to his knee, body screeching quietly with the rusty movement. Dream sets his hand on top of the cold metal briefly, relishing in the contact that doesn’t throw him from his body, even though the sun has long since set and there isn’t any warmth to contribute to the comfort. The thrum of magic is what comforts him, brushing feebly against his own repeatedly. Dream reaches out with his own and the iron guardian’s magic recoils slightly, not coming back until Dream’s retreats. The conversation between the hunters and the man has grown steadily louder, which Dream pays little mind as he continues to eye the snapped bars in front of him. The wood is splintered roughly, sharp and sure to cut into his skin if he tries to run too fast through it. Dream thinks that he has enough splinters in his hands and knees, thank you. Besides, Sapnap is directly on the other side, hand still clenching the strap of the bag that had been thrown into the cage, and Dream doubts that he’d be able to get past the other man fast enough to avoid getting caught.

Still, he should run as soon as possible.

Dream should run, should give himself a head-start and not look back until he’s either captured or killed- shouldn’t he?

(Is it even worth running if they can track him by his blood, if he’ll never be able to go where they can’t follow? He knew getting into this that he’d never get out, from the very beginning, but it’s not humanities way to just let yourself be killed.

Sometimes, Dream has to remind himself that he’s not exactly human, not anymore.)

“Technoblade, don’t-”

The scent of blood is abruptly thick in the air, his only real warning before the door to the cage swings open with a loud creak of weathered wood and a hand wraps itself carefully in the back of his sweater before tugging him in a clear sign to move. The iron guardian creaks as it shifts, assessing the situation, but it doesn’t move to defend him. Dream sits up straighter at the next insistent tug, shifts slightly, and almost falls over; his hands are still pressing the new mask to his face, both shaky and tense, and he’s not willing to move them just to crawl out of the cage in an undignified manner. Still slightly dazed from the effects of the cage and trying to think of a way out of this situation, Dream lets himself be led by the back of his sweater, even though it could be argued that there’s even less dignity to that.

The second he leaves the cage, the thick sedative of magic falls from his skin like water and he feels much less compliant. Dream is quick to duck into a twisting roll that yanks his sweater free from bloody hands and gives him a good distance of about five feet from everyone else. He stumbles with the landing of it due to his preoccupied hands, ending up halfway on the ground in a crouch, but he’s still on the move faster than the rest of the people around him can react. Letting go on his mask with one hand, he darts around the side of the cage, snatches the strap of his bag from Sapnap’s loose grip and uses it as a melee weapon that he swings into all three of the hunters with one go, sending them stumbling in surprise, before he drops it and runs.

Bad nearly falls over, too protective of the useless shard of wood in his hands, but George and Sapnap recover faster than Dream had hoped and are after him in seconds.

“Leave me alone!” he shouts furiously, feet fighting to move as fast as possible to get away, even though he knows he won't manage it this time.

“Why do you keep running?” Sapnap shouts as he barely manages to snatch the end of Dream’s sleeve, stretching it and jerking him back hard enough to have him letting go of the mask with one hand to catch himself from slamming into the cage bars and possibly cracking a rib. Dream grits his teeth when he catches himself with his hands and drives the splinters in deeper, baring his teeth in a snarl as the shock of it travels all the way up to his shoulder.

“Why do you keep chasing me?” He bites out, backing up from the hands that move to grab him again, pressing himself to the bars as tightly as he can to get away.

“I- We don’t have to answer that!” Bad stammers, clutching the shard of his old mask to his chest in a parallel to how Dream is clutching the new one to his face.

“You probably should though, just saying,” the bloody man says as he wipes his red hands on his white shirt, uncaring for the way that the material stains almost instantly, “seems a little suspicious not to.”

Dream turns to face him, mouth open to shout some more at this guy’s uncaring attitude, but he never gets the chance to say anything.

Hands sneak over from his peripheral vision, and Dream is too slow to prevent the skin contact when they stubbornly grasp his jaw from either side and cradle his face stubbornly, thumbs swiping at the skin just under the edges of his mask, which falls from his slack fingers. Dream has less than a second to blink into the completely white eyes of Bad, determined and sad and furious and friendly, before he’s thrown from his body-

* * *

Fingers swipe against his skin again. Gently, and Dream realizes that he’s crying too late to actually do something about it.

“It’s okay, Dream, we’re not going to hurt you,” Bad soothes, voice soft as he stares at Dream with big eyes.

“You don’t have to run anymore-”

* * *

The fingers are harsh now, thumbs digging into his skin as they hold him still.

“This was a lot of trouble for one thing,” Bad hums skeptically, forcing Dream’s head to the side gently as he examines him, “what are we going to do with you?”

Suddenly, the bloody man is taking out the crossbow and smiling, looking like something other than human in every sense of the term.

“Collect the bounty,” he says mirthfully as he takes aim.

* * *

Thumbs rub circles into his skin as George’s hands come up and take the mask from the ground.

“Take the mask, break it, he doesn’t need it anymore,” Sapnap says in a rush as he reaches for it, taking it out of George’s hands and holding it harshly.

Dream can only watch as the wood splinters in the man’s grip, weak without enchantments to protect it, to protect _him_ -

“He’s not a monster, he doesn’t need it-”

* * *

The mask falls, his hands go limp, and George slides his blade between Dream’s ribs, face twisted in shock as Dream continues to cry and bleed.

“George, what-”

“I- I saw-”

* * *

Thumbs smooth over his skin, catching his tears, and Bad shushes him and mumbles soothingly as he holds him at arm's length and peers directly into his eyes. Some animalistic part of Dream bristles at the eye-contact, and he shuts them immediately but they flash open when he hears a short scream.

A young woman- a kid, his mind screams, she’s so young- dressed in The Dream’s flowing white robes slips against the blood-wet grass, and everyone turns to her as she continues to scramble closer to them in jerky movements. She’s obviously hurt, covered in dust and dirt and looking like she’d thrown herself off of a cliff and survived it. Her dress is torn and burned. She’s dirty and bruised, and the once clean robes are stained with something that shimmers like glowstone.

“Kill me,” she begs, her voice rough and torn open and less than human, and it’s only then that Dream notices the inky black that’s creeping up her fingers, swallowing her hands and trailing upwards-

“I don’t want to be a monster-”

Technoblade shoots at her without hesitation, having seen what Dream had, and she teleports away with an unearthly screech.

* * *

The fingers leave his face after the first brush, quickly moving to pull him out of the way by his shoulders, but Bad is too slow.

A pillager, missed in the chaos, cleaves a deep wound into Dream’s side with a dull axe, and he feels a few ribs creak and snap under the blunt force of the attack-

* * *

Dream jerks back from the hands on his face and finds himself flat on the ground with Bad leaning over him, blocking out the moon. He goes to scramble back and realizes his hands are tied together once again, and he jerks at them uselessly a few times before he gives up on getting free and just uses his legs to kick himself into a roll and get to his feet. It’s then that he sees the mask on the ground, not on his face, and Dream lunges closer to the hunters for it, scrambling madly to pick it up with his tied fingers, because if he’s fast enough he can still get away-

Someone grabs the long end of the rope that ties his hands just as Dream finally manages to pick up the mask, making him stumble when he tries to jerk away again. The Iron Guardian’s limbs shriek as it slowly lumbers to its feet, rust making it slow, and it watches Dream the same way that he watches it, both considering their choices and options.

The bloody man watches their interaction consideringly before he shrugs and goes back to the cage and runs his diamond blade through the bars to cleave it open, freeing the guardian inside with one hit.

* * *

He’s been spending a lot of time tied up lately, and the pressure on his wrists didn’t used to make him this nervous.

It was annoying, sure, when the hunters had tied him like this before and led him around, but now it’s different, somehow. Dream is- well, he’s not scared, really. It would be stupid to be scared of a length of rope, or even of being restrained, as he’s being hunted and it’s become pretty common now. Dream shakes his head to himself, glad that no one can see him in the darkness of the pillager outpost’s first room, and resolves to not think about it, as it’s not going to do him any good.

His mask glows next to him, kept within reach even though he can’t wear it without something to secure it to his head, and Dream hesitantly picks it up and just holds it onto his face, letting himself breath and take in the comfort that the smooth wood gives him.

The splinters in his hands ache, but Dream ignores them and shuts his eyes.

* * *

The walk seems longer now that Dream isn’t on the back of one of those beasts, but with every step he can’t help but relax as the distance grows between him and the slashed open cage. The iron guardian lumbers slightly behind them, tied to its own rope so that the hunters know when it gets too far behind, and Dream can’t help but envy it, even though they’re currently in the same situation.

(The Iron Guardian, at least, is going to be taken back to a village somewhere, or just set free- Dream is either going to die or run for the rest of his life.)

Stumbling slightly over a rock that he didn’t see, Dream curses under his breath. Belatedly, the bloody man’s hands brush against his side to steady him, and he jumps back, nearly falling over in his rush. The action almost rips the rope from the man’s hands, and Dream can’t help but wonder if it’s going to be taken as an escape attempt or not, if it’s something that he’s going to be punished for. 

There’s something like quiet indifference and understanding in the man’s eyes when Dream can bring himself to meet them, and he looks away as they both stay quiet and keep walking.

The next time he stumbles, the man lets him right himself, and only gives him a cautious look before they both turn back to the road. His name is Technoblade, and Dream knows what he is without having to ask or touch the man's skin.

* * *

“C’mon man, you’ve got to be hot in that sweater,” Sapnap says, gesturing to Dream and his uncomfortably warm body with a lazy hand. The bright sun shines down harshly on the group, and the only ones who haven’t stripped at least one layer are George, Technoblade, and Dream. Though, to be fair, George’s outfit is designed for this sort of weather; Technoblade is wearing a heavy mantle, and Dream is wearing a thick sweater, both of which are decidedly not good for wearing under the midday sun during the warm season.

“I’m fine,” he mutters as he feels sweat soak into the small of his back, making him sticky and even more miserable.

Then, as if life realizes everything that’s happened to him recently and is giving him a break, Dream feels the breeze shift and relief flashes through him at the same time that annoyance does.

“Besides,” his tied hands come up to adjust the flimsy strap of his mask (courtesy of a chest in the outpost) again, “it’s getting colder. You’ve been going the wrong way.”

The group stops and turns to Technoblade, the guide, who shrugs at them.

“We’re going back to L’Manburg,” Bad says with a small frown, “it’s warm weather all through the trip.”

"Actually, we're going back to the village, then L'Manburg," Technoblade corrects with a pointed look at the Iron Guardian among them. Dream feels a flash of gratitude at the words; magic recognizes magic, but that hardly means that every creature gets along. To see two opposites attract to this extent soothes something in him, deep down, and his body feels less tense now.

"I remember this path, Techno, it's a warm trip," Bad argues stubbornly, "and L'Manburg would be happy to take the big guy in!"

As if to prove Bad's point, the Iron Gaudian holds out a flower to Dream, who takes it slowly and then awkwardly tucks it into the mossy vines in the Guardian's shoulder, where it immediately grows roots and stays there.

"It's a warm trip," he repeats with a smile.

* * *

Trudging through snow and ice and bitterly cold wind is bittersweet, but it seems that even Technoblade can’t do it all night, and they’re forced to stop before the sun has even set.

They make a small camp, and Dream makes sure to keep at least five feet of space between him and everyone else, baring his teeth at Bad when the other man offers him a baked potato. The kindness isn’t questionable, but Dream is getting sick and tired of being led around like a dog, waiting to either die or get away briefly.

“Look, Dream-” Bad tries, stepping slightly closer to him and holding out the food again.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“That’s not fair,” Bad protests, sounding hurt. Dream raises a sarcastic eyebrow at him and jerks his tied hands in emphasis, clearly saying that none of this is fair and to leave him alone.

“Look, you keep running! Who runs if they’re not guilty?” Bad challenges, staring him down with obvious distrust from the generous distance of exactly five feet. It’s fair, as much as Dream hates to admit it; it’s not like he’s been the most honest hostage in the past, with all of his escaping and running and framing himself for his own murder, apparently.

“Only the good die young, and only the guilty run,” Technoblade chimes in, holding his own potato and sitting in the snow like it’s not cold at all.

A hot flash of irritation burns through him.

“Someone being chased?” he counters sarcastically, jerking his tied wrists up again to wave them in front of the group. Sapnap laughs so hard that he almost chokes on his potato, but it dies off when Dream gives him an icy stare.

“You’re shady and I don’t like it,” Bad sighs, holding out the potato again.

“You could let me go,” Dream says snarkily, turning away again with a repressed huff. The action makes him feel like a pouting child, but it means that he doesn’t have to look at the hunter anymore. Luckily, Bad takes the hint and drops the conversation, turning back to the others with a little sigh but continuously glancing over at Dream. 

Dream meets his eyes every time and scowls, even though he knows that Bad can’t see it through the mask.

(Truthfully, Dream is terrified.

He can see almost every possible future with just one touch, and not a single one has him alive and free-)

“If you’re not guilty, why run?” George pipes up from an acceptable eight feet away, stealing his attention and making him pause his staring contest with Bad.

“Because,” Dream says, “no one asked if I wasn’t.”

The night is quiet after that, as no one has anything to say to a dead man walking.

* * *

The morning sun is bright against the snow, and Dream is grateful for the limited shielding that his mask does for his eyes.

Bad makes stew out of rabbits and potatoes and something else, still groggy even as he cooks, and obviously wishing that he were back in his sleeping pack and warm. A book lays on it, left out and forgotten as the hunter continues to add things to the small pot and stirs it with small wrist movements, slumped over and yawning into his hand.

Dream watches him cook, watches him serve the food to the two hunters who are still huddled in their sleeping packs and to Technoblade, who’s been up since before Dream was, which was before Bad. Finally he carefully sets Dream’s portion down next to him. They talk, they eat, and Dream watches on, mind running in circles as he looks out hopelessly in every direction and sees nothing to hide behind if he did manage to get away and run. It's like the desert, but somehow even worse.

He'll have to wait until they get to the village, or fight his way out without a weapon. Unless he's able to make one without the hunters and Technoblade knowing-

“I’ll clean the spoon,” Dream offers as he watches Bad rub sleep from his eyes for the fourth time in three minutes, fighting to keep his voice plain and indifferent even with all of the adrenaline pumping through his body. His hands aren’t tied together at the moment because of the meal, but he’s under the heavy guard of three observant hunters and one morally ambiguous man who’s currently staining the snow under him pink. 

The hunter looks reluctant at the offer, setting the book in his hands down and frowning as his hand comes up once more to cover a wide yawn.

“I don’t know,” he begins tiredly, already moving to get up now that he’s been reminded of the chore. George lays a hand on his arm to keep him down and shakes his head.

“You obviously didn’t sleep well,” he says, considering his friend.

Sapnap, ever the opportunist to not do chores, pipes up from where he’s already shoved himself into his sleeping pack once more.

“What’s he going to do with a spoon, Bad, come on-”

“You’d be surprised,” Technoblade hums, taking off the heavy crown on his head and setting it aside as he meets Dream’s gaze head-on and blinks lazily at him.

“I just- okay. Okay, I’ll let him clean it.”

Dream hides his smile carefully as he pushes himself to his feet and walks the short distance to the river, spoon clenched in his hand.

The bank is cold, and the water is colder as Dream quickly punches his fist through it to create a hole. The jagged ice scrapes across his knuckles, slicing into his hands, but he pays it no mind as he carefully takes the spoon and dips it into the water once, twice, three times, and then he holds it up and lets the arctic winds freeze the dripping water. Satisfied, he does it again, and again, and again-

A hand plucks it out of his fingers, the smell of blood thick in the air as Dream freezes and knows that he’s been caught by the one person who suspected him from the start.

“I’m not going to say anything, mostly because I don’t think they’d believe me, but consider this confiscated,” Technoblade drones, fingertip pressed into the sharp point of ice that Dream had been carefully crafting. 

Eventually, he hums, “It’s not a bad weapon, this could do some damage.”

He doesn’t even move, doesn’t shift or lean closer or even lower his voice before he drops the bomb:

“Question is, are _you_ willing to do it?”

Not waiting for an answer, his steps crunch against the frozen ground as he walks away.

* * *

Technoblade doesn’t look at him for the rest of the trip, doesn’t act any different, like he didn’t just drop a massive question on Dream’s head and walk away without expecting an answer, as he didn’t need one- as if he already knew, somehow. If he’d expected one before just fucking off, maybe Dream would’ve been able to give him one.

(Can he say for sure that he’d have used the weapon?

Can he say that he wouldn’t have?)

The walls stand out against the land, black and dark and far too tall; it’s similar to the outpost, in a way, excet it’s clearly so different that Dream can’t even fully connect the two in his mind.

There to meet them at the entrance, which has been uncovered now that they weren’t trying to keep him inside, stands the tall man, Wilbur, and the two teenagers.

(It sets him on edge; Wilbur knows he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, knows that Dream will hesitate before he lands a blow, and that makes him dangerous.

Knowing a weakness makes him dangerous, and combined with Technoblade’s knowledge of what he can do and what he’s not willing to even consider, Dream is fucked.)

Dream stops walking, hesitating as he stares at the three waiting for them and ignores the stares of the four who stop with him. The walls won’t be easy to escape another time, especially if they've learned their lesson and the ladder is gone; at this point, Dream thinks with a grimace, going inside is sealing his fate and leaving him helpless until someone either lets him out or he finds another way. There isn’t another way out, he’s pretty sure.

He can’t let them take him in there.

“We’re just stopping by for a little bit,” Bad says soothingly, completely misreading Dream’s hesitancy as something less plotting and more like fear.

(Dream ignores the fact that the hunter isn’t exactly wrong.)

Then, a blade is under his chin, resting hard enough for the point of it to pierce his skin when he instinctively flinches back from the pressure. His tied hands come up, but he makes no move to pull the sword away from his skin for fear of just angering the teen holding it.

“We could arrest you for treason,” the teenager- Tommy, he thinks- threatens, sword flashing as he points it at Dream just hard enough for him to start bleeding. Wilbur and the other teen are walking over, both looking tired and like they'd expected this.

“Technically, he’s not part of L’Manburg, Tommy,” Technoblade says drily as he breezes past the scuffle and keeps walking to meet Wilbur, “he’s got diplomatic immunity. Make him an enemy of the state, if you’re taking him in anyway.”

The hunters are trying to talk the kid down, and succeeding for the most part, but Dream’s heart still hammers in his chest every time the kid looks away from him carelessly, not keeping the blade at his throat steady enough to avoid causing harm. Usually, you don't greet each other with a blade to someone's throat; every little shrug or bout of emotion cuts into his throat that much more.

“There’s not a war,” George says evenly, not very concerned about the blade at all.

“There almost was-”

“Sapnap apologized for that-”

“The wall is still scorched-”

Dream’s eyes scan the outside of the walls ahead of him, just over the kid’s shoulder, and he sees a flash of purple to the far right. It's far, too far, probably, but...

Glancing between his two choices of the end of a child’s sword or the swirling sheen of purple, Dream pauses and legitimately considers if it’s worth it to run this time, if he’ll be able to get away at all without indirectly cutting his own throat open.

Is it worth it if it means he finally gets away? As long as it doesn't hit anything important, yes.

Can he get away? Probably not.

He's going to try anyway.

Dream steps back, kicks the blade out of the kid’s hand, and takes off in a desperate sprint, pressing a hand to his bleeding throat as he runs to check the damage done and wincing when the small cut stings against his fingers. There’s yelling behind him, but it’s far enough away that Dream knows they won’t get to him in time. He'd caught them off-guard, and their main advantage who's unafraid to use brute force was too preoccupied talking to L'Manburg's leader to react fast enough.

He briefly considers that he could die the second he walks through the obsidian frame ahead of him, could just burn to a crisp in bright flames, and he winces but doesn't slow his approach. Odds are, there's some sort of base on the other side of that thing, especially if there's a nation that likely uses it just a few feet away.

(Dream doesn’t even have anything on him, no water or food, nothing. It doesn't matter, not right now.)

He considers all of this, then he throws himself through the swirls of color anyway and slowly melts away, wincing at the heat that hits his body, but not stepping out. He should be safe here, if he can hide quickly enough.

Everyone who's ever opened a book on the subject knows that enchanted locators don't work in the Nether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is,,, 5,273 words and it still feels rushed to me?? Sorry, I hope you guys liked it!!! <3


	15. Trial By Fire (Trial By Sword)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> <3!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

The heat chokes him, even after his gradual descent into it, and the air feels too thick when he stumbles out from the portal’s glowing frame. It’s like moving through honey, complete with the sticky feeling as sweat immediately begins to bead up under the mask. His sweater sticks to him, pulling at his undershirt with every small movement he makes. It’s uncomfortable, and the urge to stop, to pause for once in his life and consider his own comfort, is strong. Dream glances back at the portal only once before he pushes his discomfort down and takes stock of his surroundings.

Chests are placed haphazardly along the small room that he’s in, which is completely made of cobblestone, and there’s a long hallway that goes off to his right, probably leading to an exit. Dream rushes over to the first chest he can get to and flings it open, rifling through the scattered contents until he finds an odd pair of golden boots. Quickly pulling them on, he glances between the other chests, assessing the amount of time he can take to look through them.

In the end, he manages to grab a fishing rod and some bread before the portal starts to glow just a little bit brighter.

Someone is coming through, and he’s out of time.

He takes off like a shot, golden boots clanging softly on the ground as he runs away, never stopping to breathe or relax or do anything that he used to do before-

Before.

He doesn’t have a before when he tries to recall one, just blurs of memories that fall through his fingers like sand everytime he tries to hold onto them. Dream is everything and nothing all at once; he is everything more than human, and nothing special- everyone at The Dream was. The only times you were different were the short times before you took the vial, a trial by sword before you were thrown to the wolves and expected to come out on top, because the only other option was to become everything you were taught to hate.

Dream had survived both the vial and the trial by sword, and he had watched others fall to both on the same day that he’d survived. There was so much blood that day, and no water to be seen to wash it away, as it all evaporated the second it hit the open air. He remembers all of the fire, screaming as someone pressed a golden sword, kept in blue flames until it glowed red, into the large wound on his back that couldn’t be stitched. He’s never cared to look, but according to those who’ve seen it, his back has a thin slash of gold through it, where the sword had melted into his skin. Gold is too soft to withstand extreme heat, which is why there’s never enough of it in the Nether, never enough to trade with or heal with-

Dream stumbles on the cobblestone floor as the memories threaten to push down on him, but he catches himself on the rough wall next to him and keeps going, nearing the end of the long hallway.

The sounds of more people coming through the portal reach his ears, and he picks up speed, feet slapping loudly against the floor as he runs until he sees a door.

If Dream thought inside the building was bad, outside of it is _astronomically_ _worse_.

A red haze fills the air, and ash falls like rain.

It’s terribly familiar, and Dream stumbles back like the scene is going to hit him, despite having known it was coming the second he decided to walk through the portal. It certainly feels like he’s been punched in the gut as his eyes catch on blue fire and bones in the distance, on the gold that clings to the walls like metallic moss. The rough red ground under him burns, even through the soles of the golden boots, and it’s cracked like dry dirt, just like it always has been. 

He’s gasping, not getting enough air as the heat surrounds him and fills his lungs. It burns his throat like dark magic, making it hard to breathe or speak, and he has to consciously keep his fingers from feeling his neck. Dream knows that he’s taking too long, that the hunters are here now, probably running down the hallway, but everything is too hot for him to care past a surge of panic.

His fingers tear at his mask, ripping it off, but he still feels too hot and he can’t _breathe_ -

He forces his eyes open, looking for somewhere to run before the hunters get to the doors and see him. In the distance, he sees twin flashes of bright purple, glowing even through the ash that pours from the sky unhindered.

Dream looks away quickly, but he still hears the screech of a Dream Snatcher, and he knows that he’s fucked up, badly.

The ground still burns his feet, and the screams of the Dream Snatcher mix and mingle with the yells of the hunters as he picks a direction and takes off.

His mask stays in his hand, heavy and cold to the touch.

* * *

His feet hit something soft and blue that resembles grass, and Dream stops running to frantically tug at the sweater that’s been keeping him trapped and overheated for what feels like hours. The trees provide a nice cover as he flings it off and gasps in air, left in only his black undershirt and the bandages that travel from his elbow to his wrist. The undershirt, covering from his neck to his elbows, is skin-tight and uncomfortable to wear alone, but the relief of ditching the sweater overshadows any discomfort that Dream currently has. He looks at the sweater in his hands for a few seconds before tossing it into the nearest stream of lava, disposing of any evidence that he was in this section of the nether before continuing to walk on. The ground is soft now, but still unnaturally warm as he steps on it, careful not to leave footprints behind him.

Despite his best efforts, the hunters are getting closer.

He has yet to hear them, yet to see them, but Dream knows that they’re getting close. This isn’t his element, but it’s closer to it than the overworld is, and that small connection is going to serve him well if he keeps tabs on it.

Something snorts behind him, echoed by others, and he spins around fast enough to blur his vision.

There, no less than ten feet away, is a hunting party of piglins, all armed to the teeth, and all watching Dream the same way that he’s watching them. Their crossbows are loaded, swords gleaming under the odd lights that grow into the tree leaves, and Dream stands perfectly still as they snort and shuffle. His heart is pounding dangerously fast, so fast that it hurts-

A crossbow bolt is released, a sharp squeal sounds, and Dream almost falls over as his limbs lock up.

(The vial still burns through him, making everything hazy and difficult to concentrate on, and the shackles around his wrists feel hot and too heavy. Still, he’s dragged along, and the woman leading him is silent. Clay’s skin feels too tight, like something other than him is thrashing around inside of it, and it hurts, God, it hurts-

“State your name,” someone commands. Dream blinks against the sweat that drips into his eyes, stinging and burning, but it’s nothing when compared to every other pain that lanced through him.

“Clay,” he says through gritted teeth. Something slams into his side, a weapon, and his hands are let go of but not released from the chains. The golden arm braces that had been forced onto him are torn off, leaving him without any armor.

“Fight or die, ‘Clay’.”

The squeals of the same pig creatures that had been leaving him alone fill the air, enraged and violent as he stands there, his given weapon on the ground and his body on fire-)

Dream blinks, shakes his head, and forces his locked body to relax as he quickly turns away. His steps are shaky, knees threatening to buckle with every tentative step, but he doesn’t stop. Not even looking at the downed hoglin a few feet to his left, he forces himself to keep going, almost at a march.

He marches through the soft blue grass, ducking under trees and steering clear of anything that’s not a forest plant. Walking turns to jogging as his legs get more steady, which then turns back into running as the amount of space between himself and the hunters shortens.

Eventually, the forest ends, and his feet hit brick that somehow burns worse than the ground. His mask is still cold in his scorching hands, despite the time spent in the hot climate, and Dream presses it to his face for a brief second, relishing in the feeling, before he takes it off again. He goes to put it in his pocket, realizes that it’s too large, and instead uses the straps on the side of it to tie it to his forearm tightly, like it’s a miniature shield. The straps dig into the bandages on his arm that cover long-healed wounds, and Dream does his best to not focus on it as he takes another few steps into the fortress ahead of him.

* * *

He’s never been inside of one before, not even back then, and it’s really just one big maze.

Dream takes endless turns down empty hallways, sometimes coming across a chest that has some sort of material item in it, usually something like horse armor or flint and steel. Occasionally, he’ll see something that looks like a skeleton, something tall and dark that reeks of death every time he gets within ten feet of one, but Dream is quick to avoid them and their swords that don’t shine like metal, ducking into hallways and rooms to avoid being seen by those empty eye sockets.

There’s something that groans and wheezes, something flaming, that passes by the small windows occasionally, and Dream does his best to follow the monsters’ path as they float by.

Still, he thinks as he scrapes the steel of the flint and steel along the wall, leaving a long drag mark so he can find his way out, they all have to be going somewhere. If he can find their nest, he can get the powder that he needs, can study it and find a way to neutralize it.

(“What is that?” Clay croaks, throat burning from the other things that they’ve forced down it. His blood feels too hot, like he’s one second away from combusting, but it’s manageable if he tries not to . The table under him is cold, and he can feel blood forming around his bound wrists and ankles.

Just like the last few times, the person in the white robes doesn’t answer him, just swirls the vial around and watches the dust in it shift. Finally, they speak, and Dream’s head slams back into the table under the rough guidance of their hand that isn’t holding the vial.

“A trial by fire, Dream.”)

He almost trips on the staircase, not noticing it immediately because it’s made of the same blistering brick as the rest of the fortress, but catches himself at the last second and goes up.

This turns out to be a mistake, as Dream is left with ash raining down on him and a stone sword coming for his neck.

Quickly dodging to the left and narrowly avoiding falling back down the staircase, he barely avoids the blade. The dark skeleton doesn’t need to pause for breath, so it just heaves the heavy sword up again and brings it down, again and again and again as Dream dodges in the nick of time with every attack. The fishing rod, strapped to his back, is the only possible weapon he has. His hands yank it out, using it’s bendable body like a whip as he whacks the monster hard enough for it to stumble slightly. It’s stumble gives Dream a chance to take a short break, and that’s all that he needed.

Before the skeleton even sees it coming, Dream casts out the rod, the hook catching in the thing’s eye, before he yanks it forwards and firmly plants his foot on it’s skeletal ribcage, kicking it back and over the edge of the short wall. There’s a snap and a clatter, and when he takes the line back in, he’s left with only the head of the monster. 

Ahead of him, a Dream Snatcher shrieks in rage, likely the same one from earlier, and Dream takes a moment to shut his eyes before he forces himself to keep going.

He’s got a new goal now, one that will hopefully negate the hunters’ blood compasses, and one that will give them no reason to hunt him; all he needs is a functional monster cage.

* * *

The monster cage that he finds is indeed functional, and it’s teeming with the flying monsters, blazes, and they all take notice of him almost immediately. Dream has a stone sword, courtesy of the skeleton he kicked off of the edge of the fortress, and a fishing rod. The monsters have an endless supply of fire, and Dream knows that he’s outmatched.

Still, he takes the first swing. The stone sword is heavy and awkward in his hands, but it also has some sort of poison on it that eats away at whatever it touches. For instance, his fingers are burning, and his gloves are slowly rotting away, but the blazes that get so much as brushed with the actual blade hit the floor almost instantly.

He makes quick work of the cage, slashing and stabbing until he’s got enough rods to last him for as many experiments as he can think of. Dream carefully ties them with the string of the fishing rod, bundling them together and securing them to his back, and then he walks away.

* * *

The Dream Snatcher finds him, slashing at his back and tearing his undershirt wide open, but Dream kills it with the same stone sword that he used on the blades.

When more come and he meets their eyes challengingly, he’s ready.

* * *

In a way, Dream was right about the hunters closing in.

That being acknowledged, he did not expect them to drop from the ceiling like spiders and start chasing him like a pack of wolves.

“Dream, stop running!” one of them, Bad probably, yells after him, sounding concerned and tired and too-hot, just like Dream is.

“Stop chasing me, leave me alone!”

“Dream-”

He keeps running, jumping when the patch of hot ground that he’s on ends and climbing walls when he has to, anything to get away. Somewhere below him, lava bubbles. It’s a shame that the hunters decided not to use lethal force for some reason, Dream thinks as he lands from a jump and propels himself forwards with the momentum of it, they probably would have caught up by now if shooting him down was still on the table.

Dream barely makes his next jump, cracked soil giving way under his feet as he propels himself forwards. The landing is harsh, and he hits the ground hard and rolls a few feet with it, but he doesn’t give himself even a second to rest before he’s up and on his feet again. Turning briefly to see where the hunters are, his eyes widen, and he begins running back towards them.

It all moves in slow motion.

Dream watches Bad jump, sees it the instant that the hunter isn’t going to make it, sees the moment that Bad realizes that he isn’t going to make it-

And then the hunter is falling, plummeting towards the ocean of lava that Dream can feel the heat of from all the way up on the overhang that he’d landed on. No one could survive that, not even someone who isn’t human, someone with dark skin and sharp teeth-

(Dream would know-)

Dream moves before he even has a plan, throwing an ender pearl straight at the hunter and readying another in his hand as he throws himself from the edge of his overhang, trying to block out the screams of the hunters.

For a fleeting second, he flies.

Then, as all things affected by gravity do, he falls.

The pearl hits, and Dream collides with Bad in midair, knocking the breath out of both of them with the impact and sending them plummeting even faster to the lake of lava below.

Gasping through the pain, Dream quickly throws the other pearl in his sweaty fingers at a steep wall with a small amount of space to land on. It’s their only option, the only one that they have a chance of hitting before they hit the lava below, but it’s going to be close.

Dream closes his eyes as the lava gets close enough to burn without touching them, turning him and Bad so that the hunter is on top of him in case the pearl hits too late for both of them to survive.

A bubble of lava hisses and pops, brushing and burning the skin of his wrist as it burns through his bandages, and they aren’t going to make it, he’s just killed both of them, and the other two are screaming from somewhere above him, and it's all he can do to curl around the hunter-

They teleport, he slams into the wall first, then hits the ground with the hunter on top of him, elbow in Dream’s ribs and voice in Dream’s ear, which is ringing from all of the noise and from his head's impact with the ground.

“Dream!”

The skin of Bad’s exposed wrist brushes his back, where his shirt is torn open from the Dream Snatcher, and he's no longer there-


	16. Run As Fast As You Can (You Won't Get Far)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah,,,, it's short,,, ;-;
> 
> Mild gore warnings, but it's nothing too bad!! <3

It’s odd, knowing that he's in a possible future but not knowing if it’s the one that he's actually going to be facing. Dream would compare it to reading the play script during practice, then on opening night every single prop is misplaced and he has to either improvise or hunt them down or maybe even just go without them. He has a general idea of how it’s going to begin, but there are endless possibilities of different endings, each little detail something that drastically changes the outcome.

Every single future that he’s forced to endure has an end and a beginning, and they all stem from the moment that skin touches skin and a connection is formed.

Dreamers call this connection with normal people Daydreaming, and it’s often just passed off as a parlor trick that can be fairly accurate sometimes. Just silly little predictions that can be made and are used to trick people out of their money. No one really knows why it happens, why it traps the Dreamer in the connection, why they have no control over it, or even how it works with only one spark present.

The most popular theory is that all living creatures possess some sort of spark, something unique to them and only them, and that no two sparks are the same. Sparks are shaped by intent, after all.

Dream intends to find a way out of this mess, fighting tooth and nail until he’s free or dead, because he can’t live like this. Knowing that you’re everything and nothing all at once, that he’s never technically him, not yet, but that he could be every single him in every possible future-

It’s a lot, too much, most of the time.

* * *

Bad touches him, and Dream jerks away, somehow managing to throw the hunter off of him in a burst of adrenaline. He shoots up, stumbles, and there’s nowhere left to go but down as his foot misses the edge of the overhang and he falls back. The hunters scream again, hands reaching, grabbing, holding, his arm snapping taught as he dangles-

“We won’t let you fall, Dream, it’s okay-”

Blood wells from his hands, which are still tender from splinters and the effects of a wither sword, and his hands are too slick. He knows it, and the hunters must see it, because their yelling only gets louder as they scramble to pull him up as fast as they can, hands slipping against the blood that covers his palms. Dream shuts his eyes.

He falls.

* * *

Bad’s hands, gloved and protected and usually so gentle, close around his throat. Dream gasps for air and scratches against them, but the hunter doesn’t let up, even though Dream can clearly feel the tears when they hit his face.

“You _lied_ , you _lied_ to us, I know what you are-”

Dream weakly paws at the hands as his eyes slip shut, chest burning from a lack of oxygen.

They don’t let go.

* * *

He scrambles out from under Bad, panting and looking for a way out that isn’t going to involve throwing himself into lava, but completely willing to take that chance if Bad tries to come any closer.

“Dream!”

“God, man, you scared us,” Sapnap says with too much emotion as he helps Bad to his feet, standing closer than the small space to stand on really warrants. It’s not like George is any better though, with how he’s coming closer by the second, eyes wide and relieved as he checks both of his friends over with worried hands.

Dream’s arm burns, and he tucks it away.

The hunters turn to him, expressions of relief making them giddy, and the ground cracks beneath them all. Dream is the first to hit the lava, but he still hears them all scream-

* * *

An elbow in his ribs, a sickening crack as they finally cave in, and blood pooling in his mouth as his lungs are pierced through by his own bones-

* * *

Bad on top of him, a ghast to their right, and a bright flash as it screams, the noise echoes by the hunters.

Dream shuts his eyes.

* * *

Bad on top of him, lava below them, and nowhere to run.

Dream tries to jerk away, bucking like a wild horse as he struggles to get out from under the hunter on top of him. The hunter, who doesn’t budge beyond the initial adjustment to Dream’s struggling, who stares down at him like he’s never seen him before, with wide eyes and an open mouth and so much shock that Dream is briefly worried about him. Bad seems to get a hold of himself though, ripping his hands away from Dream’s back and sitting up, still on top of Dream. The rods still secured to his back dig into his spine and make his bare skin burn where they touch it, but he doesn’t let it distract him as he notices the other two hunters quickly finding their own way over by cutting into the wall and climbing down.

Sapnap looks angry, fire in his eyes matching the heat of the air around them, and Dream is instantly wary of him.

“You almost killed Bad!” he yells, fists clenched as he finally gets onto their ledge and drops down, George right behind him.

“I’m getting really tired of almost dying while chasing you-”

“Then stop.”

Sapnap blinks, like it hadn’t occurred to him to stop, before he focuses again and looks out at the red-glazed view.

“We’re not doing that, you know we can’t,” and it’s almost pleading, how his voice goes from hard to something more helpless, like he wishes that he and the hunters could let Dream go. Once again, he wonders just what was promised to the hunters in exchange for his death.

Shutting his eyes, Dream lays his head back down to the ground and stops fighting Bad’s hold on him, just breathing in the ashy air.

“Please. _Please_ , just stop,” he whispers tiredly, head pounding and ribs creaking and body burning up into nothing like a dying star, too bright and most brilliant right before it explodes. Dream doesn’t want to die, not really, but he doesn’t want to live like this either. His arm stings where the lava bubble had brushed it, and his hands are so tender that even the ash falling from the hazy sky seems to hurt.

Dream doesn’t want to die.

The ground under them creaks, protesting the weight of them together, and Dream feels the exact moment that it starts to give way. He forces himself up, knocking Bad back enough that his back hits the wall and he instinctively grabs the little notches that George and Sapnap had carved into the wall. The other two hunters back up on instinct, and then it’s just Dream standing on the failing ground.

The ground is going to fall no matter what, but if he steps closer, it could chip more of it away and take the hunters down as well. What used to be a plan is now something to avoid, he thinks as he desperately tries to come up with something that won’t hurt anyone.

Readjusting his feet, Dream waits until the last possible second before he springs towards the wall and latches his torn fingers onto it, clinging to the wall like a spider as he scales it as quickly as possible and just hopes that his arms don’t give out before he manages to get to the top. Behind him, he hears the hunters exclaim as the ground that he was just on falls. The hunters yell up at him as they climb back up as well, telling him to stop running and just wait, but Dream doesn’t even glance back as he shoves his fingers into the dry ground and makes small pockets to hang on to. Finally, his agonized fingers hit the top, and he uses the last of his energy to swing himself up. Everything hurts, and he’s got so much ash on him that every small shift of his body causes a small rain of it. His mind screams at him to run, but his body doesn’t get more than a few feet before he’s falling to his knees and trying to figure out what’s wrong with his hands, why they’re burning so badly.

They’re wet, too wet, and _red_ and _slick_ and-

And Dream is an idiot, he should’ve fucking known that his hands were going to split open eventually, and now they have and he can’t use them. His hands, which hold and grab and often keep the hunters as bay, are almost completely useless. Dream flexes his fingers and grits his teeth. Then, because this couldn't get any worse, the hunters are there too. They lean over his shoulders, but they don’t touch him just yet as they take in what’s got him sitting on the painfully-hot ground.

“Oh, goodness. Your- Your _hands_ , Dream,” Bad gasps, carefully grabbing his covered wrists and pulling Dream’s limp hands closer to his face so he can see them better. He winces at what he sees, and Dream remains halfway on the ground, panting and trying to get his useless body to respond to his commands. His legs shake under him, which doesn’t give him much hope, but it’s something. His gloves hang on to his fingers and wrists in shreds, barely there, and Bad gently peels them away to inspect the damage further.

“Is- is that wood? Why does he have _splinters_?” George turns his attention away from his hands to look down at Dream, “why do you have _splinters_?” he demands, looking closer and turning slightly pale before looking away.

“Something’s wrong with his back-”

Fingers graze his back slightly, and Dream lurches forwards and into the ground as he tries to get away, skinning his hands on the burning ground and grinding the splinters and dirt into his ruined palms. He leaves long red streaks on the ground.

(The world is loud and muted at the same time, like Dream has cotton stuffed in his ears and fire in his veins. People are talking in a rush, but no one is touching him. They surround him, and someone is trying to explain the likelihood of his survival, but it’s all muddled to his ears as he blinks at the ground in front of him.

“We can’t stitch that, miss-”

The soft voice goes ignored, the lady in charge talking over her and silencing her.

“There’s more than one way to close a wound, Dream. Now,” she turns to him, feet in his line of sight, shoes shiny and dirt-free even after all the time in the nether, “speak your name.”

He stays silent, willing his body to listen to him as he twitches on the ground and tries to move. He can’t. There’s no one coming to save him this time, no one who knows where he is or what’s happening, and-

“Speak your name, and we’ll help you.”

And Clay doesn’t want to die, not like this.

“Dream,” he gasps into the hot ground, still unable to move as blood pours from his back like a flood, making him woozy.

“My name is Dream.”)

“That’s gold, holy shit- that’s _gold_ -” 

Tucking into an unsteady roll and letting his momentum carry him, Dream staggers to his feet and leaves the hunters on the ground, tucking his ruined hands to his chest and pushing his legs to run as fast as they can.

* * *

He runs until his legs give out again, and then he drags himself until his arms are numb from the heat of the ground. The burn on his forearm is no longer painless, and it burns like fire with every tense of the muscle underneath the charred skin.

Through it all, the hunters are behind him; no longer chasing, but simply following as they watch him race and stumble and gasp and fall.

Eventually, Dream can’t move anymore.

“You’ll run until you can’t anymore,” Bad says gently as they catch up to him, “why is that? And why did you say you’d killed yourself, and why-”

“Why would you lie, Dream?”

Dream almost chokes on air in his rush to reply, something in him snapping that the hunters never ask the right questions.

“Why _wouldn’t_ I?”

A sharp squeal sounds near by, echoed by more, and Dream tenses but huffs a laugh into the hot ground as he forces himself up to his knees. He does his best not to let his hands touch anything, but every brush of them against anything, even air, makes him wince in pain. Slowly, painfully slowly, he manages to get to his feet; he sways dangerously, but he's standing.

The squealing gets louder, feet stomping closer, and Dream looks back at the hunters before he turns away from them and takes a shaky step towards the hot black bricks.

They can't follow him here, and they all know it.

The black stone is only about four feet away, and the hunters aren’t wearing gold, and even though he planned for this outcome, something stops him from taking another step. The hunting party gets closer, and he knows that they’ve spotted the hunters when they snort loudly and then yell. The hunters don’t deserve to die, he reasons as he sighs and turns back to them again.

“You should leave,” Dream suggests, only to watch them shake their heads and frown at him. He frowns back, having reached his limit with their confusing actions way before he ever fled to the nether.

If the hunters had any common sense, they’d be running for the burning hills the second that they realized what Dream had led them into- they’d run and keep running until they reached the portal, and they’d realize that he’s not worth it and leave him here.

But-

“Not without you.”

A golden sword swings for George’s unprotected side, and Dream jumps forth without thinking and blocks the hit with his arm, which is still guarded by his mask. The wood cracks, but it doesn't break, and he snarls when the piglin yanks its sword loose and goes to attack again. 

His ruined hands itch for a weapon, but he’s somehow lost the wither sword, and all he has now are a few blaze rods and an old fishing rod that the wither effect has been steadily eating away at from the moment that the string touched the monster’s skull.

Wincing at the burn, Dream grabs a blaze rod in each hand and starts swinging.

The piglins aren’t prepared for him to attack, more focused on the hunters and their lack of gold, but the second he whacks the first one in the neck and a sharp snap sounds before the monster falls to the floor, all of the attention is on him. The hunters stare in shock, and the piglins stare in fury. Dream shifts his grip on the rods and raises them again.

The piglins converge, and Dream dodges and ducks and spins and lashes out, slowly taking them down even as more pour out of the fortress.

“You should go,” he advises again with a grunt as a piglin shrieks at him and loads its crossbow before firing and barely missing his leg.

Like a broken record, he gets the same answer.

“Not without you.”

This time, he’s distracted enough to not notice the piglin’s swinging blade. Someone screams, and Dream whips around to the noise just in time to watch Sapnap barely manage to catch the blade that had been coming for Dream’s face, a killing blow delivered with lethal force. The hunter’s gloves are strong, some sort of metal, and the piercing sound of it meeting the gold rings out through the air as Sapnap catches the blade, grabs it, and takes it from the piglin before tossing it away and clocking the monster with his metal-covered fists.

(Sapnap doesn’t want him dead by a piglin’s hand, or maybe he doesn’t want him dead at all-

Dream tastes berries on his tongue, and he remembers that George is colorblind.)

Dream returns the favor by shoving his rods through the monster’s eyes and into its brain when it comes back with a vengeance.

* * *

He’s gasping for air, they all are, and bodies litter the floor around them like the ash litters the nether sky.

The blaze rods that had been used as a spur of the moment weapon are chipped and broken now, but Dream has more, so he just snaps the damaged ones into pieces and shoves them into his pockets.

“Are you going to run _again_ ,” George grumbles breathlessly as he straightens up, looking willing to chase even if he knows he won't be able to keep up.

("Are you _eating_ right now-" George yells as Dream shoves another bite of bread into his mouth. Irritated, Dream opens his mouth and shows his half-chewed food before he stabs a piglin in the back and pins it to the ground, as if to prove that he can do both.

"Multitasking," he says snarkliy before ripping the rod from the monster and shoving it through the back of its skull.)

“I think I’m good for now,” Dream wheezes in return as Bad and Sapnap gather themselves as well. They all look at him in surprise, but don’t ask what’s changed his mind. 

Instead, Bad nods and moves to take Dream’s hands into his own to inspect them again, and George and Sapnap take the hint and begin pulling out the limited medical supplies that they’d brought with them.

Bone tired and in pain, Dream lets his hands be wrapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3!!!!!


	17. Any Way The Wind Blows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: little bit of medical talk, but it's nothing drastic! <3

"Do you think you can get high off of these mushrooms?" Sapnap asks, messing with the one that he'd found and picked only a few minutes earlier. It's an odd blue color with orange spots, and it certainly looks like something that would either get you high or kill you.

"I don't know, try it," is George's response as keeps walking, not nearly as caught off guard by the question as Dream is, "maybe it's poisonous or something."

"Please don't put that in your mouth, you muffin, and George, don't say that," Bad chastises the two of them idly, sounding like this is something that happens a lot. Dream can't help but glance uncertainly between the three of them, taking in their dynamic as George snatches the mushroom and tosses it away carelessly. It hits the ground and bounces to a stop, and Sapnap stares at it for only a few seconds before he shrugs and keeps walking.

Being with the hunters is weird, Dream decides as he once again moves to put a few feet of distance between them and him, just to be safe. He gets a few uncertain looks for it, like they think he’s in good enough condition to run right now and they're going to have to give chase- like they honestly think he would get far with useless hands and unstable legs. No, his best bet would be to hide somewhere, and they’re currently on the most bare section of cracked earth that Dream’s ever seen in the Nether. Maybe that’s just the frustration talking, maybe it’s the pain getting to his head, or maybe it’s the anger when he sees Bad come that much closer to him, closing his comfortable distance by a few inches like he's not perfectly aware of Dream's preferences. George, who’s been sneakily glancing at him every two seconds, moves closer as well, Sapnap following behind his friends as they all pretend not to notice his hard looks. 

The nether ground is hot through his golden boots, burning his feet, but he pays it no mind as he returns the hunters' stares and adds a little bit more distance just to see them squirm and eye him uncertainly as they decides if they should come closer or not.

Dream takes another step away, watching the hunters carefully as they watch him back, looking unsure as a group now.

In the end, they let him have his few feet of distance without complaint, and the four of them move as one towards a gold-ridden wall that glints in the low light. How they saw it through all of the ash, Dream has no idea, but he's grateful that they did. The hunters need gold if they even have a chance of making it through the nether, especially with all of the hunting patrols that piglins send out. Dream knows that he definitely won’t last another fight like that, not with his ruined hands, and they seem to know it too because they immediately begin collecting the gold to fashion some temporary armor. The ease that they rip it from the walls makes his back itch, and he has to look away.

While they do that, Dream allows himself to lean against the wall and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the roughness and heat that stings his back and burns his skin. His body hurts, throbbing like one big bruise, but he's never had time to rest before, and he certainly doesn't have it now. The ashy air burns his throat, a reminder of the magic and heat in the air, and Dream almost wonders if Bad can feel it too; his dark skin and white eyes and sharp teeth make him something other, something more, but Dream doesn't know if he's in tune with what he is. Sighing, Dream slides to the hot ground, holding in a wince as it burns his legs when they rest against it, splayed out in front of him.

The hunters, keeping one eye in his direction, continue gathering and laughing and talking and melting the gold down, not in much of a hurry. When he looks over, Bad waves and smiles. Dream grits his teeth and looks away from them, trying to block them out completely as their sound echoes in the nether, bouncing off of every uneven wall in the dimension.

The only reason that he’s here right now is because they all know he wouldn’t make it very far if he tried to run, and it’s embarrassing and irritating to admit that. Every smile the hunters give him feels mocking, like they honestly think that not killing him grants friendship.

Like they think that Dream wouldn't run away if he could.

(He can’t help but think back to that future, where they’d all been so happy that he was okay, so relieved-)

The wall suddenly feels like fire against his back, searing the skin left vulnerable by his torn shirt, and Dream jerks forwards quickly, hands reaching back to feel the broken skin that’s long since been melted shut. His fingers, bandaged thoroughly and stiff, brush against the scar and come back without gold or blood, and Dream sighs before relaxing slightly. He doesn’t lean on the wall again, too weary of the golds melting together from the heat, but his shoulder's slump and he rests his elbows on his thighs.

Ash trickles from the sky steadily, collecting in his hair and on his clothes. Dream doesn't make any effort to dust it off, instead just letting it cling to him in specks of grey.

The hunters yell again, cheerful and loud despite the energy-sapping heat that pushes down on them, and Dream begins preparing himself to be on the move again. Briefly, his eyes catch on the mask that's still secured to his arm, cracked but whole, and he glances back to the hunters before his trembling fingers carefully untie the mask and let it fall into his lap. His fingers feels as if they're being help to a hot blue flame, but he still picks up the mask and presses it to his face slowly, savoring the feeling. He's hidden, for a few small seconds, and the pathetic act somehow brings him enough comfort to make it worth its while. For these few seconds, no one can see him, can look at his face and read it like a book, or look in his eyes and see what he sees in every reflective surface.

He holds it there for as long as he can get away with before letting it go and tying it back around his arm with a barely restrained sigh.

“We should raid that piglin thing, while we’re here,” Sapnap suggests as he tugs on a helmet of gold, seeming relieved to have it as a piglin hunting party snorts in the distance. The other two agree with little enthusiasm, and Dream doesn't get a vote so he just forces himself to his feet and follows like they clearly expect him to.

* * *

  
  
His hands hurt, and Dream knows that they’re still withering away without having to unwrap them and check, can practically feet his flesh rotting to his bones the longer that nothing is done about it. Unwrapping them would probably make it worse, actually; opening the wounds to the ashy air would be awful, and then he’d have to rewrap them as well, which is painful all on its own. It's just not worth it, so he tries to shove the pain down and not think about how his hands could be permanently damaged soon.

(There's nothing he would be able to do about it anyway, and complaining would just slow them down.

There's no known cure for holding a wither's blade.)

The soles of Dream’s boots burn his feet when they're pressed against the hot black bricks as they all walk through the piglin fortress, which is now seemingly empty and free to loot without consequences like death and permanent maiming. It's large, with staircases that lead straight to drop-offs and walls, and the black brick makes it all blur together in his mind so thoroughly that he's a little concerned that they're never going to find the exit. The hunters, who examine everything curiously, don't seem to share his fears.

They’re all in the same general area so that no one loses the others, but the halls are short and riddled with random turns, maze-like in their design, and it would be all too easy to slip away and not be found. If they ever found him, he could claim to have gotten lost, even.

Dream doesn’t slip away, choosing to stick closer to his guide, Bad, than he would in any other situation.

(Clay- he's still _Clay_ -

Clay ducks and rolls, landing in a sprawled heap after slamming into the wall shoulder-first. Something in his arm cracks, but he doesn't feel it. The stone under him is hot against his bare skin, and he feels feverish and slow and his blood burns through his body like something powerful crammed into a soggy bag. It feels like his skin is tearing, like it's too small for what he's becoming.

The piglin squeals in rage as it readies another swing, golden sword glinting with the lanterns that hang from the chains in the ceiling, and more of them answer its call. Clay curses and rolls to the right, ignoring the way that something in his arm shifts unnaturally.

He’s so close, he can feel the heat of the lava, can see the shine of the gold mound in the middle of it all.

One handful, just one, and then they said they’d let him go-)

Dream stumbles and hits the wall to his right, biting back a snarl when he immediately flings out a hand to catch himself, slams it into the wall, and almost falls over as his mind blanks and fire races from his fingertips to his wrists. It eats at his flesh like something rabid, and he feels tears spring to his eyes with it.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” he bites out, pressing his shoulder into the wall to push himself away from it so his hands are free to burn with pain as they please. Bad is by his side almost instantly, almost pressing into him, and Dream throws an elbow into his gut on reflex when gloved hands try to grab at his arms and turn him.

The hunter coughs in surprise at the hit, but he quickly recovers, hand snatching the torn back of Dream’s shirt like he thinks he’s going to run into the endless fortress. Careless and gloved fingers brush against his scar, and Dream jerks free and moves away but doesn’t run, trying to be clear that he’s not getting away, just stop _touching_ him-

“Are you okay?” Bad wheezes, like he’s not the one who just got an elbow to the solar plexus. Dream blinks at him, knees threatening to buckle in surprise as the adrenaline begins to rush from his body only seconds after filling it.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he says after a few seconds, half-thinking that it's some sort of trick on Bad's part.

“Good! That’s- that’s great,” he smiles as he straightens up with a wince, and Dream backs up on reflex but still stays within ten feet, a hesitant trust beginning to form despite his best attempts to shove it down. Trust gets you killed.

("Trust me," the man smiles, offering his arm goofily, "I only want to see you home, dear Dream."

Dream smiles emptily at him, white robes flowing as he denies the arm and the drink that's offered after it. The man's wedding ring glints in the bar's lighting, something so obvious that everyone else is willing to ignore in a place like this. A pit of sin, which is why he'd been sent in the first place. A hand closes roughly around his arm, and the man is no longer smiling at him gently as he looms over Dream.

"Trust me-")

They keep going, occasionally catching brief glimpses of Sapnap and George through holes in the walls. Bad always cheers and calls out to them, like it’s been a hundred years and not five minutes, but Dream finds it hard to care when the guy looks so happy. The two always yell back, and all of the noise makes his head pound.

Walking around a tight corner, Bad turns to him and grins happily, achievement in his bright eyes as he laughs.

"Dream, look! This room has chests!"

It's said with the same tine that an overenthusiastic teacher uses with young children to try to get them excited about something mundane, and Dream isn't sure why Bad thought that it would work on him as he just stares at the hunter, who keeps smiling back at him like they've both just win a tournament. The hunter rushes into the small room, heading for the closest chest and flinging it open, and Dream crosses the room to the other chest and winces as he uses his stiff fingers to pry it open as well.

A few mundane things face him from the bottom of the chest; some gold bars, a few nuggets of gold, an old book, a heap of chains, a red disc, and something else. Leaning closer, Dream pokes lightly at it and forces down the pain as he picks it up and holds it out. It unfurls, revealing itself to be some soft of clothing, something soft and green and light.

In the nether.

Something about that is odd, misplaced and wrong, and Dream isn’t able to quite shove that down as he moves it carefully in his hands, each shift of the item too much for his ruined skin.

“Is that a little poncho?” hands reach over his shoulders inquisitively, Bad’s voice in his ear and clothing brushing his back-

Once again, an elbow to the solar plexus and a wheeze as Dream quickly ducks under Bad’s arms and steps away as the hunter tries to regain his composure.

“Please stop doing that,” the man asks tightly as he catches his breath, hands pressed to his stomach protectively.

Dream doesn’t respond, instead stooping to pick up the dropped item, which is indeed a green poncho.

“It’s your color,” Bad says encouragingly, not coming any closer, "but it's probably too hot to wear here."

Dream remembers Bad’s wrist touching his skin, the feeling of stares on his ruined back, and he pulls it on in a matter of seconds, ignoring the hunter's looks as he pushes his head through the hole and moves his arms a little bit.

“In the nether? Won't you be too hot?” Bad asks him, sounding concerned. The poncho ends at his wrists, coming down pretty far, and he's pleased to note that the inside is covered in pockets of all sizes. It's not enchanted, Dream would be able to tell if it was, but the extra layer adds a pleasant coolness that he hadn't expected when he'd first began tugging it on. The material is thick and sturdy, something durable and made to last in the nether.

“Yes.”

Dream swings his fishing rod back onto his back, string still keeping the blaze rods together, and he shoves everything else in the newly obtained storage of the poncho.

* * *

They meet up with Sapnap and George again, who give the poncho a few curious glances, before the four of them agree to traverse the remaining part of the fortress as a group. Dream hates it, if he's being honest, and it's not even because he's stuck with them. It's just- they’re all far too loud, and his hands are burning and his feet are hot-

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Walking across a bridge to another connected fortress is fine, the heat of the bricks is fine, Sapnap being too close to him is _fine_ -

Until it isn't, and they fall.

The floor is there and then it’s not, and Sapnap is screaming as he and Dream lose their footing on a crumbling piece of the bridge, sending them through the bridge and towards whatever's under them. They land on another bridge that’s only a little lower, and bridge is a generous term for it; it's more like a thin grid pattern that crisscrosses the lava, three feet wide at best.

Dream lands on his hands and knees, with a sharp shock shooting through his body. The lava burns, far too close to him, and the bricks under him burn like metal that's just been removed from the furnace. They burn, and it hurts, but Dream can't even focus on that, can't see through the tears that cloud his vision as his hands flare up in pain.

Tears, somehow still hot when in the nether, are trailing down his face as his hands shake and blood begins to bleed through the bandages, dark and visible as he pulls them up from the burning floor.

“Dream?” a hand on his shoulder, shaking it carefully, "we need to move, the floor is too hot-"

A sob tears through him when lava bubbles far too close to him, and the bandages are almost soaked completely through now.

“Dr- m?” he lists forwards and it caught by the hood of his poncho, which hits his neck hard enough to make him gag from the pressure. He kicks out, hitting nothing as Sapnap fight to keep a hold on him, to keep them both from falling into the lava that burns them even from where they stand.

Dream thrashes-

Then, skin touches his.

* * *

Skin touches his, and he’s pulled against Sapnap’s chest as the hunter gasps and clutches him tight before quickly walking them over to a wider section of the bridge. This one doesn't hurt to stand on, but all Dream can do is stare blankly at the crook of Sapnap's neck as he goes limp as a child's doll.

“Dream- Dream, you almost fell-”

Something large and gelatinous slams into them both, and neither of them have time to scream before they're burning.

* * *

Skin touches his and Sapnap stumbles as an arrow sprouts from his shoulder, the shock of it sending him into the lava. A heavy weight settles on Dream's back, forcing him to the ground, pinning his chest to the hot stone and forcing the back of the poncho up. The snort of a curious piglin is almost hidden by the loud sounds of the other two hunters screaming. Then it's Dream's turn to scream as fingers dig into his back, reopening the wound as the gold is picked from it, soft from the heat-

* * *

Skin touches his, and he falls still.

“What does this do? Why do you stop moving when-”

* * *

Skin touches his, and Dream fights it like a wild animal, kicking and screaming before he’s frozen and unable to move.

“Why do you freeze when we touch you?”

Quieter, almost breathy in its sadness:

“Do we scare you that much?”

* * *

Skin touches his, Dream flings himself over the side and into the lava below.

* * *

He does it again, the heat burning bright before he’s nothing at all.

* * *

And again, The hunters screaming above and behind him-

* * *

Skin touches his, and Sapnap keeps him still as they both wait for the other two hunters to find a way for them to get back up. Dream is limp in the hunter's hold, heady foggy and body burning as he tries not to topple them both into the searing lava beside them.

Dream blinks his eyes open and he’s not on the bridge anymore, but he knows with certainty that he _was_ -

Rather, he’s on the floor with the hunters surrounding him, looking scared and sick as they crouch around him and talk too fast for his ears to really pick anything up. They sound hectic and rushed, like something's happened, and he frowns as he tries to roll onto his stomach so he can get up. Hands grab him, keeping him down, and Dream only fight for a few seconds before he can't anymore. He blinks again and it’s just Bad who's over him now, who’s gasping and staring down at his unwrapped hands. The other two are close by, he can hear them, but Bad looks so stressed out, so Dream focuses on him with a frown.

He tries to slur out the hunter's name and find's his voice useless, so he just goes back to frowning as Bad holds his hands.

Dream can’t really feel them, not until Bad tentatively pokes at one and it feels like fire and ice and nails. He thrashes on the ground, ripping his hands free and panting as he curls onto his side and clutches them to his chest. The floor burns the side of his face, but Dream doesn’t get up, doesn't turn from the pain as his hands wither away-

He blinks again, and he’s swaying, weightless even as his body feels so heavy.

“-ream?”

* * *

He’s on the floor again when he blinks his eyes open, and his hands feel so cold that he blearily wonders if he could cool himself down by pressing them to his face. They feel like blocks of ice, like maybe he'd somehow left them behind at the snowy village and forgotten about them for a really long time.

“Dream? Are you awake?”

Sitting up in answer, he grits his teeth at the way that his hands pulse with agony, the icy feeling turning to sharp pain.

“We’re making a position of healing- one with glowstone. You- you’re gonna be okay, Dream, we promise,” George peers into his eyes, looking earnest and concerned as he smiles tightly and glances back at where Dream assumes the other two are. He shifts, forcing his heavy body to move, and he's managed to get to his knees before George stops him with a careful hand to his shoulder. The barrier of fabric that the poncho offers is a comfort, but there's something like a threat in those dark eyes as George makes him sit down.

"I know how to keep you still, Dream, don't make me use it."

And it's said like a joke- like Dream dying over and over again is something funny, like George has completely forgotten how he'd screamed and cried when Bad had been killed in the desert village, like Dream doesn't face that every single time his skin brushes someone else's-

He stays put, and he doesn't look George in the eye as they both wait in cloying silence, the only sound those of monsters that can somehow survive in the nether.

* * *

  
  


His hands burn hotter now, flashing between hot and cold and numb and stinging, and Dream’s not able to hide every reaction to every change from three people who are watching him like hawks, all ready to move into action at the drop of a hat. He winces as his hands go from hot to shockingly cold, and Sapnap pushes himself away from the wall.

“Dream-”

“No," he bites out, before looking away from them.

* * *

The hunters move the potion supplies to be closer to him, obviously worried about his worsening condition as Dream sweats and shivers and his hands itch like something is under his skin. The moments that he can focus on anything else are brief and short, and spent staring down the hunters, who don't approach him after the last time.

* * *

“I know what it’s like, I think,” Bad says quietly as they both watch the potion brew, small bubbles racing from the dropper's straw and settling in the tip before they pop and the liquid drips down. It's a bright pink, regeneration instead of healing.

(His hands shake as Bad undoes the bandages, and the hunter has to look away from the skin for a few seconds, breathing deeply like he's afraid he'll get sick. It's a glorious period of numbness right now, but even Dream has to shut his eyes when he sees his hands, mangled by rot and covered in blood, twitching even though he can't feel them doing it. They're slick and ruined and patchy, horrible to look at, and the smell of a wither infection fills his nose on his next breath.

"Dream-" Bad starts softly, pausing before starting again, just as soft.

"Dream, a healing potion won't fix this."

And he knows that Bad is right, but something in him screams to protests to force it to fix his hands because he'll die without them, he knows he will. His hands are what allow him to climb, to grab, to throw, and if they heal like this- Dream can see muscle and tendon through the blood. Even if his hands healed, if the skin regrew and it was fine, his muscles are halfway gone, his tendon's too thin to keep up with him- he would eventually lose the use of his hands, sooner rather than later.

"Regeneration is easy to make, I think, but," he trails off, meeting Dream's eyes, and he gets it.

"But it takes more energy. I- I'll be out for a while."

Bad nods, and Dream shuts his eyes.

"Do you trust us?" Bad asks suddenly, fiercely enough that Dream forces his eyes open again, watching the hunter with his blurry vision.

"Do you trust us not to hurt you?"

Does he?)

Dream’s skin feels fever hot even to him, even as he shivers from cold that can't possible exist in the nether

“To be different.”

Dream looks away and shuts his blurry eyes, relishing in the sting of it, before he simply says:

“Not like this.”

* * *

Bad reaches for his bared skin, and Dream jerks away, almost toppling to the ground as he throws his weight forwards and stumbles a few feet before turning back around. His hands are numb, and they have been for much longer than usual, and he's terrified of what that means for him. The finished potion rests in George's hands, glowing and pink

“Don’t touch me- don’t fucking touch me-”

Bad steps closer, despite his yelling, hands spread like he’s harmless- like Dream can’t see through it like a sheet of glass.

“Dream, we’re trying to help, but you have to stay still! You’re still when we touch you, and we can't afford to spill this-”

"What's so bad about us touching you-" Sapnap starts in, standing next to Bad, but the other rests a hand on his arm to quiet him and moves a little bit closer to Dream

“The wither is going to kill you, I need to help you drink it,” Bad looks desperate, like he’s been backed into a corner and he’s trying to get out with his words. The irony of the hunter looking like that isn’t lost on Dream as he presses himself against the wall even more.

"You- you can't touch me."

"If you hold your head up, and we tip the bottle, would- would that work?" Bad pleads, like he's trying to get a dying child to take the gross tasting medicine; he's scared, they all are-

Dream gives in.

"Fine."

Slowly, George comes closer with the potion as Dream slides down the wall to get on the floor again, head pounding and body feeling far too heavy for him now that the burst of adrenaline has began to fade.

"Dream?"

He blinks, and things get blurry again alarmingly fast, and it's like his head is filled with cotton.

"-gloves, hold- face-"

Something warm rests on either side of his face, stretching his neck as his head is forced up. Dream opens his eyes and sees a potion being tipped towards him-

(Clay tucks the last of the leftover string into his pocket, making sure to leave nothing behind as he exits the shepard's shop and begins his walk home. The sun is high in the sky, and people on the streets smile at him, which he returns quickly with a short wave-

_Did he ever live in a village? He can't remember-_

"Do you have a second, young man?" someone calls, and Clay turns to face them without hesitating, a small smile on his face. They're wearing the average clothing for this type of land, something light and flowy that allows the breeze to cool them down and the sun to warm their skin, but Clay's not sure he recognizes their face. Still, he comes closer to the shopfront that must be new, because he doesn't recognize it either. But it's not uncommon for new people to come to the small village, not when they have one of the best climates for traveling and vacationing in general.

"I've got a few hours, actually," he jokes, checking the position of the sun with a hand up to shade the worst of it's glare from his eyes-

_Who was that? Why-_

His head slams into the wall, and a hand fists in his hair to force his face up, and he's too dazed to fight it as something is shoved past his lips and liquid splashes down his throat-)

The potion sloshes down his throat, and Dream is barely able top resist the instinct to spit it out, dazed and panicking as much as he is with reality and whatever the hell _that_ was blur together. Immediately, hands are in his hair, petting it, and he calms for a few moments before he begins thrashing like a wild animal at the memory of rough tugging-

"Hey, hey! It's okay, Dream. You're okay, we just need to wrap your hands now, while the potion does its job-"

He kicks out, and they all back up to the other side of the small room, not taking their eyes off of him as he pants on the floor, hands twitching uselessly even as they itch with healing. Dream watches in fascination as muscle and tendon knit themselves to be stronger, a slow process, but a mesmerizing one. Bad, hands full of bandages, steps forwards again, and Dream's eyes dart to follow the movement

"Don't touch me-"

"What the hell is all of that about?" Sapnap explodes, throwing his hands in the air, "what's so wrong about us touching you, we're trying to help you-"

He reaches out suddenly, as if to test something, and Dream’s back slams into the wall when he tries to get away again, leaving him gasping in pain and fear. Still, is a desperate shout, he yells:

“Because it’s _killing_ me!”

And everything stops.

Sapnap looks shocked, Bad almost drops the bandages, and Dream wants to slam his head into the wall for being stupid enough to say that, because these hunters are nice, but they're far from dumb. George looks like something is dawning on him, something terrible, and Dream looks away from the expression, stares at Bad and Sapnap and bares his teeth when it looks like they might try to come closer again.

There's nothing he can do to take it back, so he soldiers on.

“Every time you touch me, I die. So fucking stop it.”

“You keep running away,” Sapnap defends, sounding angry and confused as he takes a single step forwards, “and you stop for a second when he touch you. What else are we-”

“Then wrap my hands again, if you’re gonna grab me anyway!” Dream spits, holding them out like the hunters are going to put him in shackles, “but don’t fucking touch me before then. I- I’ll stay still, just- stop.”

It comes out in a whisper, but they all hear it as it almost echoes in the small room, too hot to the touch.

“Please, just _stop_.”

“Dream,” Bad says softly, and he steps back, retreating, bandages still in his hands. Dream watches him carefully, arms still out in front of him, and looks away.

"Gloves are safe," he mutters, and Bad steps closer slowly, inching his way over until he settles on the ground in front of Dream, checks to make sure his gloves are still on right, and reaches for a hand.

“Is- is that what happened in the village?” George asks shakily, and Sapnap looks at him while Bad raises an eyebrow but keeps wrapping the bandages.

"What?" Bad asks quietly, the question echoed by Sapnap's posture and tense frame. George ignores his friends, coming closer to Dream but stopping almost five feet away, to Bad's left.

“That’s what happens when we touch you, that’s what you see?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels rushed, but this is all I've got in me!! Sorry <3


	18. Molten Gold Burns So Brightly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a panic attack? Not really, but please be mindful! <3

That question feels like the beginning of the end to Dream, like nothing has changed and he’ll be hunted ruthlessly again if he answers it truthfully. If he's being completely honest with himself, he's just as hunted now as he was when he first encountered the hunters; just with less promises of injury and potential death. They still won't let him go, won't let him walk away. Instead, they cling to him like burrs to a wool coat, and trying to get them off hurts just as much as letting them stay-

(What are the hunters going to do, Dream thinks as he sits there under their watch, when they realize what he’d put one of their own through? George hadn’t told them when it had happened; they don’t know about all of the blood and sobbing that had happened as Dream unintentionally trapped the hunter with him, both stuck for who knows how long as cats and death surrounded them, strangers in the same damned timeline.

What are they going to do to him?)

“Dream?” George asks, calling him back to the present like a moth to flame. Without his permission, his eyes dart up to meet the hunter's, and he's sure that the stress is visible in them, but George doesn't back down from their staring contest.

Dream still doesn’t know what to say to the question, so he keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on George, who stares right back at him like they're sizing the other up for war. He watches quietly as the hunter puts the pieces together, slotting them into place and examining each finished part with care, despite the gaping holes in the puzzle that still remain. And there's always the fear that the hunter gets it wrong, decides that something else is true, but he's not sure that anything could be worse than the truth right now. Besides, Dream doesn’t even have to open his mouth to answer the question, which was really just something to fill the silence as the hunter answers it by himself.

Closely watching his face, Dream pulls his knees up to his chest and watches the room from over the tops of them, eyes tracking every small movement, but never straying from George for longer than a few seconds. Still, he misses the moment that the hunter connects the dots. It's the gasp that grabs his attention, that makes him jerk slightly as his eyes snap to the man that's only five feet from him as an expression that he can't name storms his face.

“You die. You _literally_ die, you aren’t kidding-” he says finally, voice rising in near hysteria as he talks.

Body heavy and hands shaking, Dream looks at George with sharp eyes, and dares him to keep talking at the same time that he begs him to keep his fucking mouth shut. This isn't his information to give, and Dream can whine about it all being unfair as much as he wants, but nothing will change for something like him-

“What? What village? What are you even talking about?” Sapnap asks irritably, glancing between the two of them as they stare at each other. Narrowing his eyes, Dream slowly says, “nothing.”

His voice feels rougher than it sounds, and choking the words out requires a lot of effort but he manages it.

“That’s not nothing,” George snaps back, watching him carefully for his reaction. They watch each other now, again, both taking in body language and expressions and tensions and threat levels because George has more than just the obvious sword and bow on him, he has to have more, he's a _hunter_ -

“I’m still _here_ , aren’t I?” Dream asks sarcastically, even as his shoulders tremble under the poncho because it feels like a lie. But he is; technically, nothing’s happened. He hasn’t been stabbed by the hunters, or fallen into lava, or had the gold ripped from his back by greedy fingers, or been turned in or shot or sold or-

“That doesn’t matter, because you aren’t every time we touch you. You- you go somewhere, and you get hurt, and then you come back and none of it was real,” George isn’t looking him in the eyes anymore, seemingly back in the desert village, staring at his friend’s bloody bed and listening to the other one's desperate sobs.

“None of it was real, but you still _see_ _it_ like it was, and there’s nothing to be done about it, and it follows you everywhere you go. It- it _haunts_ you.”

He looks at Dream again, eyes heavy with his own memories, “that’s- that's not _nothing_ , Dream.”

“I- I wasn’t trying to say that what happened to you was nothing, George-”

“This isn't about me!” the hunter yells suddenly as he takes a sharp step closer, and Dream watches him fume like a bomb that’s seconds from going off. The distance between them has gone from five feet to almost three and a half, and Dream is still on the floor, and George has leverage and weapons and so much anger that he's almost shaking where he stands. A chill runs down his spine, despite the nether heat, and his legs tense as he shifts them into a position that he can actually get up from quickly. He's ready to run in seconds, and it must be obvious to everyone, because George begins moving closer and Sapnap blocks the exit-

“Guys!” Bad shouts, slamming a palm into the floor. The bandages are carefully balanced in his other hand, but one roll of them still falls when he slams his hand down again, and one more time after that when George doesn't look at him. With the attention on him, he huffs, shoulders straight, and picks up the bandage roll that had fallen during his outburst.

“Now isn’t the time for this-”

“No, no, now is the _perfect_ time for this,” Sapnap says, staying in front of the exit, “so what the hell is going on, because-”

A hoglin squeals somewhere as it’s killed, probably by a hunting party, and Dream shuts his eyes against the images that flash across his vision.

(A shriek, loud and high, gets cut off as he kneels on the hot ground, wrists bound with gold and rope, body still burning too hot for someone to survive. Heads turn to the large black structure, made of bricks and gold, as another scream cuts through the air.

"That one squealed like a pig, I'd say," huffs one of the people in white robes. The others laugh lightly, like it was a funnily cued line from a comedic play, and Clay can't help the way that his eyes widen and his lip curls. His hands shake, making the golden chains clink together, but no one pays him any mind.

It's not his _turn_ yet-)

Someone’s hands brush his, and he knows it’s Bad, he _knows_ it, he _does_ -

Everything comes crashing down anyway.

Dream, against his best efforts, jerks himself away from the hunters, scooting until he’s pressed into the corner completely, and he shakes apart. He's too hot, and too cold, and too present and too far gone, and it's all making him dizzy enough that he's sure he would have fallen over if he wasn't already on the ground.

(What the hell is he doing with his life? He can't remember who he was before he was Dream, if he was anyone at all. Clay feels so far away, so strange, and it's not him, not anymore, if it ever was at all. He's Dream, he's been Dream for so long now- but how long really? He remembers attending The Dream's teachings as a child, but it's foggy and wrong when he gets flashes of fields and laughter and other children and sunlight-

Is this life even his?)

“Dream?”

(That’s not his name, is it? It feels right, settling like a weight in his chest that would sink him to the bottom of any body of water, but is that how he’s supposed to feel? It is supposed to feel like something inevitable when he’s called by his name? Something impersonal that's personal to him, it's his, but it's never belonged to anyone at all.

He’s Dream, but so are so many other people-)

“Dream? We- we don’t have to talk about it-”

(But they do, and they all know it, the universe knows it, because things like him don’t get to exist without an explanation, without an _apology_ -

His unfocused eyes trace a hole in the wall, big enough for him to fit through if he’s desperate enough to do it; there’s no knowing what’s on the other side of it, but ash floats through the small opening and Dream is almost certain that the fall would be long.)

“Dream- Dream, stop-”

(His fingers sink into flesh, scratching and burning, and it hurts, but that’s okay because it’s something, at least-

The pain makes him human, if only for a moment, and he relishes in the feeling.

His eyes flick over to the doorway, narrow as all of them are in this dark fortress. There’s no way that he’d make it that far, not with how close the hunters are and his position on the floor, even though Sapnap is a lot closer now _why is he so close-_ )

“Hey,” and then Sapnap is in front of him, gloves that aren’t his (probably borrowed from Bad or extras or-) on his hands as he carefully pries Dream’s bloody fingers from his arms, holding his hands carefully but with an unrelenting grip that shakes as he looks Dream in the eyes. Resistant to it, he ducks his head; eye contact isn't something he's allowed to do, that's why he has to wear the veil like everyone else-

“You’re here, and nothing is going to happen to you.”

The ground is hot, so different from the permanently cool rooms underground, and he blinks once, twice, before his eyesight stabilizes and he sees green. Making a spur of the moment decision, Dream trusts him, and sucks in air that he hadn’t realized he wasn’t getting until this moment. Sapnap keeps going, holding his hands and not letting go as Dream heaves in lungful after lungful of air and coughs it back out as it burns. The ash sticks in his mouth, bitter, but he ignores it.

“We don’t need to know, not now, okay?”

Sapnap is soft. In contrast, when George steps closer he's immovable, strong in his ways and unrelenting even if he looks a little apologetic.

“Dream,” George cuts in, soft yet sharp as he demands, “yes or no?”

“Yes,” he chokes out, and watches something in George change, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he looks away.

“Okay,” the hunter says, and that’s that. He steps back, turns away, and inspects his weapons like he's going to find some sort of mysterious button on them. Sapnap looks between them and loses some of his softness, but the new found harshness is directed at George.

“Well, if we’re gonna talk about it anyway-”

“We need to go,” Dream cuts in, heart pounding with the lie, “we can’t stay here.”

“Convenient,” snorts Sapnap tiredly, eyeing him as Dream ignores him and thrusts his hands into Bad’s reach so the hunter can finally wrap them.

“ _I_ can see the future, and we need to _go_. _Now_.”

And it’s not a total lie, not really; he can see the future, and, technically, they do need to go at some point. Preferably soon, so he doesn’t have to answer any questions and so that they don't have to stay here for much longer. His food supply is dangerously low right now, as is his stamina.

Bad’s hands pause in their movement, bandages hanging from his fingers as he softly says, “Hey, Dream? I trust you. I know you'll tell us when you're ready.”

Dream shudders at the hunter's smile, jerking his hands back on reflex when Bad reaches out again. It’s all just a little bit too much right now, and Bad seems to see that because he scoots back to give him some space, smile still soft and strong as he waits with his hands in his lap.

The bandages are half-done, hanging from his hands like wet kelp, and his hands are sore, but Dream almost loses himself again as he tries to quickly think of an explanation for what the hell is happening right now.

“Dream…”

“We need to go,” he mutters, shoving his hands back in Bad’s direction so the hunter can fix them, “before something happens.”

“We’ll talk later, then,” Bad hums as he scoots forwards and picks up where he left off, still fucking smiling.

(Dream tries not to hate George for having immunity, and he tries not to hate Sapnap for being curious and Bad for being kind and Technoblade for being free-)

* * *

No one had touched him earlier, not skin on skin, and the entire part where he said that something was going to happen was a lie, it was just a little lie to get them all to shut the fuck up and to stop looking at him like that.

But something does happen; they get caught in an open area with an overhang of rock barely big enough to hide them from the fucking ghast that’s floating around above them like an evil cloud that breathes fire. It whimpers and whines in the sky, it's own tears dripping like rain, but Dream hold’s no sympathy for it as he presses himself deeper against the wall.

“We have to move,” Sapnap says tightly, as they all watch the ghast fly above them, unaware of them for now. They all watch it, and Dream is sure that he's not the only one who wants to just move on from it. It's _one_ ghast. A single. Ghast. It's really not that big of a deal.

"How are we supposed to get past it?" George asks, and Dream resists the urge to slam his face into the wall because the hunter has a bow with him.

"Give me the bow," Dream says, holding out an expectant hand as he watches the monster float idly through the sky.

"I can't, I accidentally broke the string earlier," George mutters, pointing out the fraying sting that's barely connected to the bow, leaving it as nothing more than a useless accessory until they can get it fixed. As far as he knows, there's not a village here to trade with, other than the piglins that they killed; even if there was, they have no way to get to it right now.

Dream takes out his fishing rod, ignoring the odd looks that it gets him.

"There's no fish in the nether, Dream," Bad says, like he's being silly, even as the hunter watches the ghast warily. Focusing on his task of tying the hook to the part of the string that the wither hadn't eaten away at, Dream quickly steps out of cover and casts it into the red sky.

"Dream-"

Darting even further out of the cover of the overhand, he yanks the rod down harshly, forcefully dragging the ghast from the sky with a grunt. It hits the ground in a cloud of dust, shrieking at him angrily as he runs closer to it, taking out another blaze rod. The hunters shout in alarm, fire swells in it's mouth, and Dream readies the blaze rod and whacks it back at the sorry thing, killing it with it's own fire in a matter of seconds.

"Oh my goodness, _Dream_!" A hand clasps his shoulder and spins him around to face them, and Bad is immediately checking him over for injury despite having seen the whole fight. Sapnap looks excited behind him, face beaming and streaked with red dust as he laughs.

"What the hell was _that_ -"

"-language-"

"Bad, come on, you _saw_ _that_ -"

"It was pretty impressive-"

And because he should know better to trust his luck, Dream hears a screech behind them just in time to turn around and see the fireball before it hits them all dead-on. He hits the ground hard, air forced from his lungs, but he's up in seconds when he hears another screech. This time it doesn't hit as close, just at his feet-

It sends the hunters flying a few feet, and Dream knows that they’re all unconscious because they fly through the air silently, like children’s toys. He hits the ground again, feels his ribs creak with it, sucks in air, and moves.

First, he grabs George; he’s the one closest to the flames and the one with less clothing to protect him, the most vulnerable of them all because of it. He's also the most dangerous for Dream to grab, but he doesn't let himself think about it before he's grabbing the limp body. The hunter’s arm brushes over the skin on the back of his neck when he hauls him over his shoulder, but he doesn’t have time to wince or cower or panic, so he doesn’t. Dream spots a cave opening, runs to it, and drops the hunter roughly on the ground before going back for the other two.

He grabs Sapnap next, even though he's not as close to the flames as Bad; Bad isn’t as human, and Dream knows that Sapnap, a human, can’t take another hit like a non-human can. Still, he roughly nudges the hunter away from the flames and prays to a god that he doesn't believe in that the flames don't travel as fast here as they do in the overworld. Sapnap gets the same rough deposit as George in the cave.

Finally, he grabs Bad, drags him into the cave, and seals the entrance with hot dirt that burns his hands even through the bandages.

Then, he waits, and tries not to let the mere thoughts of the consequences of his actions swallow him whole then and there.

He'd touched them, felt something deep down inside of him react to it, and he's fucked them all over the next time they sleep, he knows it-

Dream takes a shaky breath and stretches his sore legs out in front of him, focusing on the pull of his tired muscles and not the world-ending stress that sits on his shoulders. They're all out cold, he thinks as he watches the hunters lay motionlessly. He'd almost think that they were did, if not for him being very aware of their heartbeats when he'd hauled them to the cave one by one and set them on the floor. They're sleeping, and he knows that, but he shuffles closer anyway and pokes and prods at injuries before eventually just unwrapping his own bandages and getting to work.

He's not a doctor by any means, and his own wounds are shoddily wrapped at best when he has to do them, but he does his best to bandage wounds. The small brushes of his bare fingers against theirs is almost shocking to him, but a small and incredibly guilty part of him revels in the touch that doesn't hurt. Slowly, he wraps Bad's bleeding head, and George's scraped arms, and Sapnap's knees and palms, a single-minded focus dedicated to each injury, but there's only so much that he can do.

The wounds are covered, the hunters rearranged to not be so sprawled out, and Dream is left alone to his own devices as he waits for them to wake up. His mind occupies him, nagging thoughts becoming much too loud.

(They didn't give him the bow, they don't _trust_ him-

But they do, they have to. The bow was broken anyways, useless-

What if George broke it so Dream couldn't use it?

No, no. He wouldn't do that, wouldn't endanger his friends like that-

They all look so relaxed now, so calm, and it's odd because Dream has heard both of them complain about Sapnap kicking in his sleep-)

“George had weird dreams,” Dream mutters to himself suddenly, pacing the small area and watching the hunters lay still, unnaturally so, before it all clicks like a candle being suddenly lit to illuminate a previously pitch-black room.

He touched them all, skin on skin, and the last time that happened he and George got stuck-

“Fuck!”

Thinking fast, Dream turns, slams his head into the wall as hard as he can, and everything goes dark before he even hits the ground.

* * *

He blinks his eyes open, and the hunters are all staring at him expectantly, as if they were in the middle of a conversation with his input and he’s stalled it.

And they were, Dream realizes as he feels the words that the previous him was about to say die in his throat. He looks around, taking in the small cave and it’s badly put together cover for the entrance and all of the dust that covers the hunters, the badly done bandages and the small mushroom in the corner.

“I’m here,” he says eventually, and understanding gleams from George’s eyes as the hunter nods at him in greeting. The other two look lost, clearly not understanding that Dream is gone and here again as another version of himself.

“Is it… happening?” George asks quietly, probably more for the benefit of the other two than to actually confirm. He looks tired already, as he leans back to the floor and shuts his eyes without an answer because George is smarter than Dream initially gave him credit for, and he knows. The other two still haven't caught on.

“But- but we were just talking about-”

“They won’t die this time,” Dream says to George, something that he can’t guarantee but is going to try for anyway.

“Okay- what the hell.”

Bad doesn’t even twitch at the language, eyes flickering between everyone else as he tries to puzzle everything out.

“Dream, George,” he starts sternly, “what’s going on?”

George looks at Dream, eyes questioning, and there's no getting out of this one so he tries to push out an explanation as fast as he possibly can. Dream panics a little bit with his words, fumbling and fighting them, but he does it.

“I-I had to touch you to get you somewhere safe-”

Bad looks sad now, "oh, Dream," he sighs before looking confused, "but your hands were covered! I covered them!"

Looking pointedly at the other two, whose injuries are wrapped, he forces a tight smile that feels and probably looks more like a grimace. The wrapping is badly done, already trying to unravel with even the slightest movements, but something has to be better than nothing, right?

“Your bandages are gone,” Bad realizes, a hand slowly raising up to where one is wrapped around his own head, "Dream-"

“I had to,” Dream glances away, nervous and a little wary of the hunter being irritated with the sloppy job he'd done, “and I’ll get us out of here-”

“Like you did last time?” George bites out in a moment of snappishness, looking a little sick at the memory.

Dream tries to smile reassuringly, but even he knows it looks like a grimace, “yeah, like last time.”

There's a set number of futures that they have to go through, there has to be, because they don't exactly have the time to wait this one out like last time. Last time, they were in beds in houses in a world with a blue sky that didn't want to kill them every single second. This time, he can hear the whines of ghasts and the squeals of hoglins and the snorts of piglins, and he knows with certainty that they can't stay here. They might not make it out if they try to wait for this to end; there's not any harm in trying to end it early.

“No,” George, who must've seen the thought process on his face, says, lunging for him when Dream goes to pull out a sharpened blaze rod to stab himself with. They wrestle for it for a few moments, both refusing to let go, and the heat of it burns his sensitive hands.

With a movement too fast for him to follow, George tries to yank it away. The rod pierces flesh, blood pouring from the wound, and it splatters his face as he stares at the hunter above him with wide eyes, whose hands are releasing the rod as it sits in his chest.

"George!"

Dream rips it free, kicks George's body off of him, and slams the rod into his own chest.

* * *

The hunters sit up with a shout, and Bad is crying and George is clutching his chest and Sapnap is shouting. Dream pulls it out again, preparing to slam it into his chest again and again and again, as many times as it takes, but George sees him and lunges for it again with an alarmed yell.

“I have to, you know I have to, so let me go-”

His back hits the wall when he goes to create more distance, something shudders in the structure-

The wall caves in, and they all choke on hot dirt as it fills their lungs, all of them unable to even scream as they suffocate slowly.

* * *

Dream gasps in air, coughing, and the hunters are shaking where they’re sitting against the wall. Immediately, they scramble away from it like it’s a wall of lava, like it burns them to be within ten miles of it.

“What-”

“It’s a future,” Dream says slowly, words too thick for him to fully spit out. His body burns hot, like a fever, but he shivers with cold.

His hands sting, remains of the wither still eating them from his bones. He holds them up and looks George in the eye, and the hunter's shoulders slump when he sees the infection too.

This time, George hands him the sword and looks away.

* * *

“Is it… does it hurt?” Bad asks as they all sit there, this time with Dream slowly dying from a random bit of vine slicing into his side and ripping back out.

“No,” Dream lies through his teeth, unable to meet the hunter’s eyes, “it doesn’t hurt.”

George, as if he can still see Dream choking on blood, sobbing in pain, from when he’d stabbed himself in the desert village shakes his head.

“Liar.”

* * *

"Can all Dream Snatchers do this?"

George starts yelling at Sapnap, pale and frantic, but Dream's head is bitten off of his shoulders before he can so much as reply.

* * *

The room is small, and he knows that something has to happen for this future to move on, but nothing is. Nothing has happened for what feels like hours, and it's grinding on his nerves. The urge to reset it is strong, and George must see it, because he’s been watching Dream carefully for a while now, hand over his sword- not to be ready to attack, but to be ready to keep it away from Dream’s hands. Sapnap and Bad are following their friend's lead, but with less focus as they quietly talk to each other in hushed whispers, glancing around every so often.

“I could- I could reset it?” Dream offers to George when the hunter sighs boredly, holding out a hand.

“If that means what I think it means, absolutely not,” Bad says sternly as he breaks off his own conversation to but in, staring him down with enough intensity that Dream looks away.

Sneakily, Dream's hand creeps to the pocket that he's stashed his blaze rods and is caught by Sapnap, who then proceeds to rip his hand away like Dream's burned him the second he realizes what he's done.

"I'm sorry- fuck! I fucking _forgot_ -"

"I'm still here," Dream whispers in wonder, silencing the hunter's panicked cursing, reaching out to touch the hunters hand before quickly snatching it back. Nothing happens; he's not shot into a future inside of a future, and he's not hurt or killed or even in pain at all. 

(This future doesn't hurt him.)

Something collides with his side, and Dream swings his fist out on instinct as fear shoots through him. His fight or flight kicks in fast, it always has, and he'd rather run than try and hold his own, but sometimes he can't-

The punch is sloppily thrown, harmless aside from the force behind it. It collides with the side of Bad's shoulder, glancing off clumsily as the hunter clings to him.

"I deserved that," he says, and Dream can hear the smile in his voice, "but you deserve this."

Stupidly, like he's forgotten who this is, Dream braces himself for pain. For some sort of knife to slide between his ribs, for something to break and hurt and bleed. What he gets is another hunter on his other side, George, and Sapnap coming closer as well.

"Dogpile!" the latter laughs, flopping onto Dream's legs like an over-sized and overly affectionate cat, making himself comfortable. The small flinches that he gives with each new touch are noticed, but he doesn't pull away so neither do the other three.

“We’ll wait it out with you, Dream,” George says quietly, keeping his hold on Dream’s arm. Sapnap nods, still sitting on his legs, and Bad smiles grimly at him from his position on Dream’s other side, still up against his side. His ribs ache, but he doesn't have the heart to ask the man to move, so he suffers in silence.

(This isn't a far-fetched possible future, something in him screams, warm and bright. This is them, the real them, and they're voluntarily touching something like him without causing pain. Maybe the lack of his abilities in this future makes him seem more human to them. Maybe they don't want to hurt him.

Maybe it's something else.)

“We’re gonna talk about this, not now though,” Bad mumbles, and it sounds like a threat to Dream's ears, but he shuts his eyes anyway, relaxing against the floor.

“Okay.”

* * *

When he blinks his eyes open again, his head pounds painfully and the hunters are just now stirring awake on the hot floor. His whole body hurts, and his back is drenched in sweat from being pressed to the hot ground for who knows how long. His throat is painfully dry, but that doesn't really tell him anything about how much time has passes, because the nether tends to dry out everything in it within a matter of seconds.

“Is it over?” Sapnap asks as he pushes himself up from the ground, hot red dust clinging to his face as he looks around like he'd be anywhere else but in the sealed cave. The other two also peer around cautiously before turning to Dream, who has yet to even lift his aching head from the hot floor. They all look understandably wary at the moment.

"Dream? Dream, it- it's over right?"

Dream nods in a way that he hopes looks reassuring, picking himself off of the floor and wincing at the sticky feeling of blood in his hair and on his face. Right, he hadn't slept naturally this time and he's going to pay the price for it. Unfortunately, the hunters notice the blood almost immediately and are coming closer before he can reassure them that they don't need to.

“What did you do, you muffin?” Bad asks, looking like he's at the end of his rope with Dream and his endless line injuries. The hunter is checking him over while pressing a head to his own head, and Dream knows that he's in pain, so he has no idea why Bad is so concerned about him. In the spirit of getting it over with, he decides to comply and just answer this one time.

“I had to sleep so we could get it over with-”

“Oh my god, you probably concussed yourself-” George says, taking notice of the blood as it spills down his face with the new gravitational pull that comes from being upright. It runs over his forehead, tickling it slightly, and Dream wipes at it half-heartedly. His hand comes back red, alarmingly so, but head wounds bleed a lot anyway so he's not too concerned about it.

“It was _necessary_ -”

“Dream-” Sapnap starts, eyes tracing the dent in the rough wall where Dream had slammed his head into it like he's going to slam Dream's head into it again out of anger. There's no lying about it, it's clearly in the shape of his head and it sticks out from the rest of the cave because it shines with blood, so Dream doesn't even try.

“It was better to just get it over with!” he shouts, and everyone else falls silent as they watch him. He’s horrified to feel tears beading up in his eyes, making them burn as he chokes out, “I didn’t want to be unprepared for it, and-”

“And what? And you don’t care about yourself? And you have a death wish? And-”

The tears are hard to see through, but blinking will make them fall and Dream's not sure what could be worse, being half-blind or obviously pathetic.

“Sapnap, stop.”

“If we all got hit again, we would have been _dead_! We would have been trapped there in a possible future, and we would have burned or been stabbed or- or something worse because we wouldn’t be able to get out in time to get away!” he defends, pushing past whatever is lodged in his throat, making it hard to speak.

“But now you’ve got blood running down your face.”

“So?” Dream challenges. Swiping his tender hands through it again like he can just wash it away, like it won't be replaced in a matter of seconds. He pulls himself off of the floor, head rushing and pulse thrumming, and turns to begin to unblock the exit carefully. The future that they all suffocated in flashes in his mind repeatedly as he takes it as slow as he can without it being ridiculous.

“So? _So,_ you matter! _So,_ stop hurting yourself! _So-_ ”

“The poster says ‘wanted _dead_ ’," he bites back, turning back around and jabbing an accusing finger in Sapnap's direction, "I’d know, I _read_ it-”

“This isn’t about the poster, Dream-” Bad tries to cut in, hands up in a sign of peace. He's ignored, and he seems to give up after that, even if he looks anxious. By his side, George isn't looking any better. Sapnap storms closer, and Dream plants his feet, letting his anger root him to his spot through all of the fear, because the hunter can't just like to his face like this and expect him to take it-

“You can’t keep _doing_ this shit!” Sapnap screams at him, fists balled and face red as he stands there, shaking with emotion.

“Why the hell would _you_ care-”

“Because we _care_ about you, man-”

“Why?”

“Because-”

“Because _why_? There’s nothing to care about!”

“There's everything to care about-”

“Like what-”

“You’ve saved us-”

“From messes I _led you into_ -”

A fist hits his face then, sliding in the slick blood, and Dream hits the floor shortly afterwards in a cloud of red dust as his hands fail to catch him.

“We got ourselves into this for believing everything a goddamn piece of paper said about you,” Sapnap seethes, backing up and unwrapping his hand from his sleeve, which had been pulled down to prevent skin contact. Small mercies, Dream supposes as he lifts a hand to his face, wincing when his fingers brush where Sapnap's fist had landed.

“So don’t you _dare_ pull that shit.”

Dream stays down, watching Sapnap warily as the hunter becomes something else in his mind, something less forgiving, a warmth less like sunlight and more like sticking your hand in molten gold, something dangerous and painful and brilliant.

This is how hunters are _supposed_ to act, but then-

Then Sapnap’s face softens, and he looks away and stops standing so aggressively. He almost looks ashamed when he glances down at his fist, then back to Dream.

“We don’t want you hurt, Dream, and we don’t want you dead.”

“Since when?” he asks spitefully, baring his teeth. His cheek throbs like it’s trying to tell him that Sapnap is wrong, that the hunter just hurt him. Something in him is shocked at being hit, even if he’d never thought that the hunters would be nice to him in the end of it all.

(Why is he so surprised that he hit him? If he never thought that he'd get out of this alive, why did the punch come unexpected? Why was the man causing him pain shocking? Why-)

“I… I don’t know.”

And it’s enough to cool the small cave down, enough for Dream to surrender his hands so Bad can finally finish wrapping them with more bandages, and enough for the room to stay silent as they dig themselves out and leave it all behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeyyyyyyyy,, 6,176 words and almost zero plot, we hate to see it!! <3


	19. Talk to Your Friends and Your buddies, Because You Don't Have Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY I HAD LIKE,,, NO INSPIRATION AND THIS CHAPTER ABSOLUTELY DOESNT MAKE UP FOR NOT UPDATING BUT HERE

Despite his world being flipped on its axis with the revelation that the hunters either actually _don’t_ want to hurt him (or are actually good at their jobs enough to lie that smoothly, which is... not very likely, from what he's seen, if he's being honest with himself), some things don’t change. 

The nether, despite being the place that his entire world shifted, always remains the same. The floor still burns, the air still burns, the ash in the sky still fucking burns like shit, and everything still wants to kill them on sight for no reason other than they look squishy enough to beat into the ground, an easy victory in a harsh world. And Dream isn’t out of shape, he can’t afford to be, but he’s tired and hungry and thirsty, and his body aches with every step and it’s getting increasingly harder not to pant for breath with every second that slowly ticks by; he _is_ an easy victory to the monsters that dwell here. Dream blinks, letting his eyes close for longer than strictly necessary just because it helps the pounding in his head, and he almost stumbles over a tiny rock that must be looking for an easy victory as well.

Everything in the nether is out to get him, even his own mind and the fucking _ground_ , and that hasn’t changed either.

The steadiness of it all would be soothing if it wasn’t so exhausting to keep up with.

"Ugh, it's hot," one of the hunters complains loudly nearby, and Dream twitches at the sound of it, tensing up because _why the hell are they here he should be running_ before relaxing as much as he can to avoid wasting energy. The hunters don't want to hurt him, and part of his brain relaxes at that but the majority of it screams and kicks and lashes out because _they obviously do, why would they not, he'd seen the poster, the lies and the slander and the reward for his head, they'd have to be idiots to let him go._

A slow chill runs through him like someone’s just slid a snowball down his spine, and he shivers a bit as the cold that he hadn't realized was clinging to his limbs till now begins covering his body, trailing all the way down to his toes with enough force that it feels as if he’s been submerged in arctic waters. He can still feel the heat of the nether pressing in from all sides, but now it’s not enough. It's like the second that it touches him, the air turn cold; Dream knows that the nether is hot, and he knows that hydration is important when combating it, and he's almost certain that he's been drinking water-

Dream stumbles slightly, coming closer to a small patch of fire than he would like, and the heat of the flames feels luke-warm at best against the chill under his skin.

Something tugs against the back of his poncho, pulling him away, and Dream lets himself be led a few feet before he pulls out of the grip. Immediately, he stumbles again and almost gets burned to a crisp by another patch of fire, much larger than the last one, and the hand returns. His shoulders twitch at the slight weight that’s attached to his clothes, wanting to heave upwards and force the hand to let go because a hand from behind in a place like this is never a good thing, he doesn't know how hw knows that, but he does-

(“Oh, Dream,” someone coos, a hand pressed flat to his trembling back as white cloth shifts all around him. The floor is hot under his hands and knees, burning him, and patches of fire are far too close for his comfort.

“It’s called learning obedience, Dream, now-”

The hand shoves him flat to the ground, slamming his chin into it and making him bite his tongue, and then Clay is pinned there by the one hand like a decorative butterfly is by pins. He feels weak and too hot, and his back still feels like it's on fire and there's something hot cooling in the gash that he'd gotten and it hurts, it _hurts_ -

“Hold still.”)

“Hey, Dream? You okay? Because you aren’t looking all that great.”

Fingers intertwine with his, clumsy around the thickly done bandages, and Sapnap’s nervous voice floats around his head like a bee floats around a flower in the overworld. And, honestly? Dream feels fine. He's a little cold, and his brain is a little slow and panicky, but other than that he feels perfectly fine. And who in their right minds would complain about being cold in the nether, a hell dimension? So Dream smiles, squeezes Sapnap’s hand, and tries to speak to reassure the hunter but quickly finds that he can’t. His mouth is open, but the words that he wants to say are fading and reappearing in his throat rapidly, and he can’t make sense of them anymore.

“Dream? Come on man-”

A hand on his shoulder, pushing him down gently-

(“You will learn obedience, or we will leave you here.”

And then his back is being cut and burned at the same time, because golden swords from the overworld are much too soft to withstand the nether’s fire, and the intricate design that’s being carved into his back is symmetrical and he’s supposed to be thrashing but the single hand on his back keeps him down and still like he’s under a spell. He can feel everything, every drip of molten gold, every slice against his sweaty skin.

Clay-Drea- _he_ can’t even scream when he feels the blade grate across bone.)

-and something is pressed into his hand gently, like he’s an elder who can’t hold things on his own. And he can’t, apparently, because Dream's limp hand tries to drop it immediately. His fingers are too cold to hold anything, too slack to move, and he’s still trying to convince himself that he’s not on the ground getting tortured when Bad presses the thing back into his hand, curling his frozen fingers around it and holding them there with both of his hands.

“Dream, you need to hold it, please-”

So he does. Dumbly, he brings up his other hand, which had been resting uselessly against the supposedly searing ground and forces his fingers to curl around the thing in his hands, overlapping with his other hand and both of Bad’s.

“What?” he asks, almost dropping the thing before Bad forces him to tighten his grip.

“Gosh, why wouldn’t you say anything you muffinhead!” the hunter worries, insistently pushing the thing- a glass bottle of what Dream assumes to be water, up to his mouth.

Dream uncorks it, smells it, and when the smells don’t set off any warning bells in his head, he throws the bottle back and chugs.

Almost as soon as he swallows for the fourth time, the texture catches up with him and it’s a struggle not to fall over and die to put an end to his misery.

“It’s thick- why’s it thick,” he coughs, pushing the bottle away with both hands until Bad sighs and takes it from him with relief on his face.

“Thick potions are basically just thicker water, and when it’s thicker it hydrates you more because it sticks to your mouth,” Bad explains, re-corking the bottle and settling it back in his bag with far too much care for something so disgusting.

“You could have told me that,” argues Dream as he rubs his hand over his mouth like he can get rid of the sheer disgust he feels right then. The potion clings to his mouth like tasteless oil, but it’s much more thick and unpleasant.

“You wouldn’t have drank it if I did!” Bad defends, looking back at him like he has to convince Dream to stay again, like Dream is going to run away over a weird texture, even if they all know that he wouldn’t get very far in his current state.

“He probably would have thought it was poison or something,” scoffs George as he digs through his own small pack, and even the joke sounds slightly bitter to Dream’s ears, a small amount of hurt coloring the man’s tone.

(“Dream, I can’t believe that you’d do this,” and she sounds so hurt, like she’s really thought that he was good and he’s throwing it back in her face. His hand remains bloody from the knife in her fingers, but guilt still worms it’s way inside of him.

Her hand isn’t even the slightest bit red where he’d reflexively slapped it away, and the only spilled blood is his, but he still-

“I’m sorry,” he rasps quietly, sticking his hand back under her knife. It's not bad if it's his choice, right? And he owes her, he hit her, and she just wants to help she says so she says that she just wants to help-)

“You almost got heatstroke, I think,” Bad hums as he digs through his own bag again, pulling out an old-looking book and opening it with a sigh, “so we’re taking a break, just for a little bit.”

Gratefully, Dream nods and shoves his head into his hands.

* * *

They can’t afford breaks, and they all know it, so Bad only allows himself to read one chapter before he slides the worn silk bookmark between the pages and shuts the book with a heavy heart and a whirling mind. It feels wrong, almost, to learn about Dream without his permission, but he just wants them all to be safe! How wrong can it be if he just wants his friends to be okay, if he wants Dream to stop running and everyone to stop hurting?

The book in his hands is heavy with old facts and half-truths, but maybe if he reads enough of it he can help, right?

* * *

Dream’s throat feels both clogged and slick, but his head is much clearer than before so he supposes that the thick water was worth the temporary disgust of drinking it. The nether is a dangerous place, and he can’t really afford to be any more beat up and pathetic than he already is.

Everything in the nether is out to get you, and it will get you if you don’t get it first. The hunters don't really seem like they care about that.

“Look at him go!” Bad cheers as he and his friends watch a baby strider try to navigate its way through a small lava pool. The little thing’s legs are strong, and it’s able to move around without too much effort, turning it’s big eyes in all directions as it takes in its vast and ashy world. Dream tries to look around with the same amount of wonder and fails to see anything that isn't deadly. The strider seems happy enough with its surroundings, which Dream is only slightly bitter about, as it continues to shuffle around in something that would melt his bones in only a few painful seconds if he so much as got too close to it without some form of protection. Being a small creature like that, one that is near indestructible and rarely hunted, must be much better than what Dream has going for himself right now.

“I wanna feed him,” Bad says in a hushed whisper, and he pulls out a brightly colored mushroom from one of his pockets, holding it out and cooing at the thing, which excitedly begins to make it’s way over to the treat.

“It’s so ugly it’s cute,” Sapnap laughs, watching the small creature as it tries to waddle through what must be a deeper part of the lava.

“You’d get that, wouldn’t you,” George says slyly, avoiding Sapnap’s hand when it goes to whack him. They’re too close to the lava for Dream’s liking, but Bad is the one who he’s watching. Bad, who’s kneeling over the edge, one arm under him and the other over the lava to hold the mushroom out to a baby creature that has the attention span of a parrot. Bad, who Dream is pretty sure isn’t fireproof, much less lava proof, but seems to believe that he is.

Bad, who yelps as the dirt under his stabilizing hand crumbles into the lava under it, sending him off-balance and lurching forward _and what is it with Bad and almost falling into lava pools-_

The hot ground slams into Dream's ribs as he desperately reaches out, hand barely catching in the back of Bad's shirt and nearly letting go when the hunter thrashes and accidentally kicks him in the shoulder before his legs go over the edge too, leaving him hanging by Dream's arm. Despite the pain of it, despite the sharp crack that he felt when the hunter's boot connected, he doesn’t let go. His knees burn and scrape against the floor as he forces himself up so he can drag Bad up faster, heart pounding in his ears when he sees the bubbling lava so close. Carefully, he slides his grip from the hunter’s shirt to his forearm, which Bad had stretched up to him without hesitation. His fingers dig into the thick material of the hunter's sleeve, holding him so tightly that he’s sure it’s painful, before he swings Bad up and back and up again, building enough momentum to hopefully swing him back over the side and to relative safety. He swings the hunter up again, feels Bad kick against the wall to help him, and then his eyes catch on a bubble of lava that's beginning to form under the hunter. It’s not too big, but it doesn’t have to be, and Dream quickly uses a majority of his strength to fling Bad into the wall, where there’s the slightest bit of floor to land on. Bad lands easily, like a cat, and Sapnap and George cheer in relief as they yell and scream at him like he’s just won some sort of sports game.

The bubble swells and finally pops, lava flying higher than Dream expected, and he’s not fast enough to avoid it completely when he tries to yank his arm away from where it still dangles over the lava pit.

The pain of it is too familiar, even if this body has never experienced it, and he chokes on a scream as he throws himself back from the edge like he can get away from the pain of fire eating through the bandages and beginning to touch his skin.

The bandages continue to catch fire easily, feeding off of each other, and he rips his arm up from the ground and tears them off as fast as he can manage, ignoring the pain of fire licking at his skin because it’s only going to get worse if he doesn’t get it off now-

“Dream!”

And then something is poured over the blistering wound, something red and tingly that makes the skin repair itself in seconds, even as it still tries to burn. He gasps at it, at the sensation of his skin replenishing itself at the same time that it tries to fall apart, but eventually the potion wins and his arm is left blotchy with sensitive skin. Specks of glowstone glitter on his arm, and his relief at it not being red has him shutting his eyes for a few seconds.

When he looks up at Bad, still sucking in air through his teeth to help with the pain, the hunter refuses to look him in the eye. A Dream snatcher screams in the distance, and Bad whips his head down like he thinks the sound came from Dream before he jerks his gaze away.

Skin pink and mind confused, Dream gets to his feet and they continue their travel.

* * *

The rest of the trip back to the portal passes in a dangerous blur of fighting mobs and realizing that Bad is avoiding him obviously enough for the other two to notice. So now everything is strained and weird and Sapnap keeps trying to make jokes but none of them land because the tensions aren't high, exactly, but they've shifted significantly. All because they trust their friend more than they trust something like Dream, and he never expected anything else, but he'd almost let himself hope when he shouldn't have.

(And while he knows that what they have with him isn’t friendship, some part of him feels lonely at the new treatment. Because those days in the snow back in that village had almost convinced him that he could have a life that wasn't just running until he dropped dead one day, either from exhaustion or a wound. Dream had considered staying, had wanted to live in that small town with the face coverings and the fluffy coats-)

His golden boots clang against the stone walkway of the portal building, too loud, but Dream’s more focused on the hunters than he is on anything else. They round the corner, and he can see the glow of the portal ahead of them, secured and safe in its obsidian frame as its light bounces off of the walls around it. 

Dream steps through after Sapnap and before Bad and George, feeling like a prisoner being escorted into a cell.

* * *

Everyone is waiting for him when he stumbles out of the portal, even though he wasn’t the last one to enter it's pull. His body feels slow and stepping out of the purple glow feels wrong, like the dimension wants him to stay and is trying to keep him as close as it can. He gasps when he finally manages to get out of its influence, when its purple light is no longer splayed across his back, and the air is so easy to breathe here that he chokes on the difference of it, falling into a coughing fit. It feels like his lungs are going to pop in his chest from the amount of air that he can suck in now, and it almost feels like too much.

“We can stay in L’Manburg for the night,” Sapnap says eventually, when Dream is done choking on clean air. It’s daylight still, the sun isn’t even considering setting and the brightness of it is so different from the nether that it makes his eyes water, but the time doesn’t seem to matter because they all start making their way over to the tall gates of the small country before anything else is said between them.

His feet sink into the soft ground under him, and Dream doesn’t move as they tread through the tall grass, instead choosing to watch them go and wonder what the hell is even going on. They're avoiding him, especially Bad, and Dream considers the idea that it might be the guilt of almost dying again, but that can't be it, can it?

“Come on,” George calls quietly when he notices that Dream hasn’t moved, not coming back and offering a hand, but seeming insistent that he follow the group. Bad and Sapnap turn to look at him, waiting for his next move.

Dream straightens his aching shoulders and steps closer to them, and the one that Bad had kicked feels wrong and painful still, but it's manageable enough for him to not mention it. He takes a step, and then another, and he doesn't let himself stop until he's with the hunters again, close enough to touch and far enough to run.

Bad avoids his eyes, but smiles at him anyways, a small, tight thing that does nothing to calm his aching body and suspicious mind. His clumsy fingers untie his mask from his forearm and Dream quickly secures it to his face, relishing in the feeling of safety that it gives him. When he looks back at Bad the hunter looks like he's been struck, but Dream has enough sense to not ask about it as they keep walking.

* * *

The welcoming at the gate isn’t necessarily a warm one, but Dream can hardly blame the teen- Tommy, he’s pretty sure- for running at him with an axe after the last time they’d interacted, and the time before that.

“You bitch!” he yells loudly as he stops mere feet away, pointing his axe at Dream’s throat and looking furious, “we’ve got you on attempted murder of the president and trespassing-”

And wow, those two are a little out of order, aren't they-

“And we’ve got him for supposed manslaughter,” George grumbles jokingly as he tiredly adjusts his pack and shuffles his feet.

“Yeah,” Sapnap cuts in with a grin, “wait your turn, child.”

"Child- I am a man! A big man who-"

In that moment, Dream goes to mess with his bandages, forgetting their absence, and he accidentally rakes his nails over the sensitive new flesh that the potion had given him. He sharply inhales with the pain, ripping his hand away from his arm, but Tommy is on him like a shark that smells blood in the water.

“He’s bleeding!” he says like he’s tattling, and Dream feels like punting the teen back into his small country just so he doesn’t have to deal with him anymore.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something, Tommy,” Technoblade says lowly, appearing out of nowhere and making Dream’s eyes jerk to him, subconsciously wanting to watch the biggest threat in his immediate area, “other than bothering the hunters and their prey?”

And if anyone else had said it, it would’ve sounded like a joke, but with the way that Technoblade’s intense eyes haven’t left him, and the monotone voice, it doesn’t _feel_ like a joke. It almost feels like a warning, or maybe just something that the other man thinks will freak Dream out. And he hates that Technoblade is right, it does get under his skin.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be the best?” Tommy asks challengingly, gesturing to Dream, “he’s still alive, I don’t think that’s in your contract-”

“Hey, we _are_ the best!” Bad defends, crossing his arms over his chest even though Dream is standing next to him, alive and not technically captured or restrained in any way whatsoever.

“The best they could afford, at least,” Technoblade says without any expression, red eyes still locked onto Dream with enough intensity that he almost wants to go back to the nether to escape. Tommy bursts into shrieking laughter with the one-liner, even though it wasn’t that funny, and George rolls his eyes before walking through the gates like he owns them. The rest of them follow suit, like baby ducklings- except for Technoblade, who hangs back and looks like he knows everything that Dream doesn’t, before he walks off into the land outside of the country’s walls. 

Dream rushes to follow the group through the gates, and when he glances back, the man is gone, and the smell of blood is on the wind when it blows.

* * *

The van, where they send everyone with even the slightest injury, apparently, is exactly the same as it was last time. There's still too many brewing stands and too little room, and he feels cramped even though it's just him and Bad in there this time. His arm is bloody from his accidentally scraping it thing (a deadly wound, if the way that bad is acting is anything to go off of), and Dream tries to calm Bad down by arguing that the skin was probably thin anyway, and it was going to happen eventually, so why was it a big deal?

Bad pulls glowstone from his pocket, cradling it like it's the last in all of the dimensions, and Dream is unable to hold in his bark of laughter at it. The hunter's head whips in his direction, and he laughs again, "you're holding it like it's the cure for immortality!"

("You'll live forever, Dream," she promises, dragging the knife across his hand again, running it down a tendon and leaving a trail of blood.

Cl- Dream, he's Dream- forces himself to nod thankfully, body numb.

But who wants to live forever? To see everything around them die over and over again?)

“When something like you gets hurt, ordinary potions-”

“Something like me,” Dream repeats, cutting him off and watching Bad warily as the hunter freezes, mouth open and bandages in hand as he turns his attention from the brewing potion to Dream, “right.”

Bad softens, “no no, I- I didn’t mean it like-”

“Something like me,” Dream scoffs, feeling hurt even though his brain had been screeching that this was bound to happen, that it was only a matter of time before something fell apart, “doesn’t care what you meant.”

He stands up from the chair, snatching up the closest roll of bandages as he heads for the door with steps that almost make it seem like he's stomping. _Something_ like him, Bad had said. _Something_. _Something something something something-_

“I read the book- the one about your kind!” Bad blurts out, and it’s Dream’s turn to freeze now, hand on the door, because Bad might know more than he does, and that’s dangerous. That's not something that he can safely walk away from, because he doesn't know what Bad's read, what book he's even got, but he does know that a majority of the books that The Dream kept were biased. They held only tales of glory, or Dreamers who were heroes and of evil Dream snatchers, and if Bad believes more than a few things of what he's supposedly discovered, Dream needs to get out as soon as he can.

So, Dream bares his teeth and opens the door.

“I don’t give a single _fuck_ ,” he hisses, door swinging open under his shaking hand, "what you think you know, Bad."

He walks through the door, tuning out the hunter's pleas for him to come back, for them to talk about it, and slams it behind him. The sunlight burns his eyes, even through the slight protection of the mask, and he feels like tearing into something or fighting until he's taken out because he's never been good at controlling his emotions in a fight, and it's always his downfall in the end. Panic is coursing through him, making it hard to breathe, and anger runs alongside it because every single time he thinks that, maybe, he's found a place, it all crumbles down around him. And he doesn't remember much but he knows that before The Dream, before all of this, he was happy and free and-

He hasn't gotten more than ten feet before the door flies open behind him, Bad looking near tears as he stumbles out into the sunlight. The hunter looks small, right now, and a small part of him crows that it's good, that Dream can take him in a fight, that Bad wouldn't even see it coming. Or maybe he would, Dream thinks, echoes of _'something like you'_ ringing in his ears. Something like him would probably fight, wouldn't it?

"Talk to us, Dream!" the hunter begs, "and tell us the truth because we don't know what's been going on and you keep running and the book- the book says-"

"You're really gonna listen to a book that's nothing but propaganda? Lame," Technoblade, who just appears whenever he feels like it apparently, drones, raising an eyebrow at the two of them and the scene that they're making in the middle of the path. Sure enough, a fox hybrid and a man in sunglasses are eyeing them and obviously pretending not to eavesdrop, and Dream almost winces when he realizes what could have happened if Bad had decided to share what he's read. Technoblade is cleaning the blood off of an axe like he can't be bothered to care about what's happening, like he's like to see the world _try_ and take him out, but his eyes are sharply pointed at Dream.

"Talk to them, it works better than failing to run away," he says with a mild shrug.

"Talk to us," Bad pleads softly again, face earnest and hands clutched to his chest, "please."

Panic still wildly running through him, Dream feels himself nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to update yesterday but I had a breakdown, so it's here today! 4,713 words of slight angst with a very tiny POV change!!!! <3


	20. The Story Of Our Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is so late I'm sorry guys!!! Here you are, a new chapter that's not really good but it exists and thats something
> 
> TW: this one has implied torture, panic attacks, and dissociation
> 
> Please be careful! <3

Dream can almost feel the tension in the air, thick enough to choke him as his eyes stare up at the ceiling above him. He's running on borrowed time, and even the bats outside know it.

The room is dark and quiet, and the only thing keeping him in bed is the view of an open window that he has, which lets real air carry itself to brush against his face. The room is nothing like where he'd stayed while with The Dream, it really isn't, but Dream hasn't spent a lot of time inside since his face was plastered on wanted posters with rewards stamped under it. He hasn't had enough time to, always on the run.

His hands shake in front of him for no good reason, and Dream squints at them like he can will them to stop as he clenches and unclenches his fingers rhythmically. The skin on his hands, which is still new and clear from the potions, feels almost tense when it stretches across his shifting bones; like ill-fitting formal wear, or something borrowed. It's not his, it isn't made for him, and it feels just wrong enough to be clear about that. Almost like he's testing it, Dream flexes his hands again. It doesn't help with the shaking or the feeling of the skin being borrowed, but he hadn't exactly had high hopes for that anyway; once the shaking starts few things can make it stop, and this body has never been his anyways.

The shaking just won't stop, not when his hands don't care that it isn't their skin, not when his bones feel heavy with the lingering affects of being so close to snapping then being brought back; pushed to the brink of collapse then brought back, only to repeat the cycle. That's how a lot of things are when it comes to him, he's finding out.

He can't stop running once he starts, his brain won't let his exhausted body rest until he's desperately trying to crawl away and he can't.

He can't stop bleeding once the damage has been done, no matter how many bandages the hunters cover him with, because the possible futures haunt him with more pain that anything else.

He can't stop his distrust of everything around him, because that started a long time ago and he doesn't want to remember why-

Dream's hands shake and his eyes slide shut slowly, stinging on their way down, just like the memories.

(It's during one of those odd moments of silence that seems too loud that Dream comes across the bookshelf. There's nothing special about it, nothing out of place or dusty or especially shiny, but it calls to him enough for him to stop in his tracks and almost drop the papers he's been carrying. His eyes, hidden by the white veil under the white hood that serves as both extra protection and the most inconvenient blockage to his sight it possibly can, flicker around before landing on a single book out of the hundreds next to it on the shelf. There's nothing special about it, he thinks as his eyes stick to it, trailing away but always coming back. It looks more than plain, but less than important; designed to fit in perfectly to it's surroundings, seemingly hiding in plain sight. Dream regards the spine for a few seconds, eyes scanning it.

Gently, the papers are set on the ground by his cold hands.

His steps are odd, jumbled and jerky with pain and confusion, and he can't voice his thoughts because his voice is still gone from all of the screaming, but he doesn't stop moving. The thing under his skin, making itself at home with him, calls for action and movement and planning and knowledge of different endings and beginnings, and Dream is too weary to fight it and see what it does if he denies it. But there's nothing to deny, no one to lock eyes with and share the universe, so his skin itches and burns without a cure.

His hands slowly begin to pull the book out from the shelf, almost trembling with the pain of not being alone under his skin.

Dream is still himself, there's nothing in his mind, nothing taking control, but he's also _not_.

He's something more than what he was, and he's something less at the same time.

The book finally slides free, a lily of the valley shining up at him as the blue lanterns that hand from the ceiling illuminate it. The bookmark is green velvet, and it sits just behind the cover of the book, waiting to be used. The book is dusted, shined to perfection, but no one has ever read it before now; the bookmark is unused, the spine isn't cracked, and the cover isn't worn with age the way that books that are touched often are.

Dream opens it slowly, taking care not to crack the spine and reveal that he had touched the book, and he understands everything and nothing at all.)

* * *

Dream spends hours preparing what he's going to say, thinking long and hard on the odds of him having to fight them if he tells them certain things, on his odds of survival if he does end up against them-

But nothing that Dream had prepared for could compare to the real thing, and he knew that, he'd known that as soon as Bad had gently called his name and asked him to come talk to them, but he still finds himself slipping into something colder with every step that he takes. His anxiety is swelling under the stone that his skin has become, pushing against it like it's trying to break out, but Dream keeps it back. If he imagines it hard enough, he can almost hear the sound of his feet grating against the floor as though they were made of unpolished granite- ugly and rough and hard to see anything good in, useless and heavy.

The sun beats down on the parts of his skin that it can reach, but it's nothing compared to the heat of the nether.

Somehow, he thinks as he watches a bird fly overhead, the setting for the dreaded talk isn’t what he’d thought it would be.

As his stone feet crush the grass beneath them, Dream doesn't know if that really helps or not.

They're in a grassy area, small and dotted with enough trees to not be a plain, but with too few trees to be called a forest; a middle ground. Dream glances at the hunters, eyes lingering on each one, and the thought comes back into his head like an obedient dog.

This, he thinks as he stares at the sparse trees behind the hunters, who are all sitting on logs and attempting to look casual, this is a middle ground.

And there, with it's own spot in the middle of the middle ground, is a book with a white lily of the valley carved and gilded into it's cover, with a spine that shines from it's own gold, with yellowed pages.

The bookmark, a stark red against the gold and brown and cream, sits snugly in the middle of the pages. It looks damning, and Dream doesn't bother to attempts to tear his eyes away from it, from where the red cuts into the cream like a wound.

It's a book, he recognizes the stamp of The Dream when he sees it, but the problem is that it's not _finished_. Nothing is finished, and his stone fingers clench like he's trying to hold sand between them. The sand still slips through his fingers, and it feels like an hourglass somehow, like time is ticking away, slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts.

"Dream," Bad begins, standing tall and looking serious and regretful, and Dream can't even pretend to know why the hunter would regret this, unless he's about to finally be killed by them-

"This book-"

"You haven't read it," Dream cuts in, words hollow in his stone chest.

"I've read enough-"

"Read the whole thing, or don't bother."

Dream drags his heavy body away from them, and they don't call for him to come back.

* * *

He wishes that he could claim that he spent those hours after leaving the hunters with that incriminating book being productive. Dream wishes that he could say he tracked down Technoblade and confronted him, that he chopped enough wood to build something far away from all of this, that he found a counter-enchantment for the compass that's ruining his chances for survival, that he'd taken the time to out as much distance between himself and the hunters as possible.

In reality, Dream just found his way to the docks. Something about watching the water rush on under him, uncaring for his anxiety and his bad deeds, was calming.

* * *

They aren't outside the next time they confront him, and Dream misses the fresh air against his face. His mask is secured tightly, hiding his expression, and he feels like he's choking on his own air as he settles against the wall near the corner. It's a horrible spot to be if he's trying to get to the door, but the hunters have predicted his movements and have almost boxed him in. Luckily, he's next to a window; it's sealed shut, obviously just for looks and not for ventilation, but the glass is breakable and Dream needs to break in his new skin anyways.

The house is small, far too small for him to be able to win any sort of fight, so he keeps his back to the wall as he regards the hunters. It doesn't take a warrior to read the room, it would take a farmer; Dream sees every possible threat, sees the swords and the knives and the arrows that the hunters always carry. Maybe if he were a farmer he'd see the worry and only the worry, but he's not and his brain screeches that it's all an act. His fingers clench at his sides, groping for a weapon that isn't there.

The book sits on the floor, damning, and Dream does his best not to let the hunters know how much the sight of it makes him want to run.

“We have some questions, Dream,” Bad says, peering at him with sad eyes, the eye contact fleeting like he suddenly remembers that he shouldn’t be doing it at all. It stings in the worst possible way, a way that Dream had thought he'd grown out of a long time ago.

The silky bookmark cleanly splits the pages down the center, still damning as it screams that _they haven’t even finished the book and they think they know him. It doesn't even look like it's been moved at all-_

“Finish the book,” Dream suggests again before shutting his eyes and tuning them out as much as he can. He doesn't have the energy to move away from the wall, and he certainly doesn't have the energy to get to the door or punch through the window.

"I _did_ ," Bad says loudly, sounding frustrated as the sound of the book sliding on the floor reaches Dream's trained ears, "I finished it, but it doesn't matter. So help me understand."

Dream opens his eyes, sinks to the floor, then opens the book.

The bookmark still sits in the paper like a bleeding cut when he finds where it rests, but the paper is perfectly blank of words or any form of ink at all. The book shines with slight enchantment, almost too light for him to feel it at all, and Dream nearly leaves it open on the floor out of habit before he's distracted by Sapnap.

“Dream,” Sapnap calls, gaining his attention and making his fingers catch on the edges of the book's cover, “talk to us, man.”

“What do you want to know?”

His heart is pounding almost painfully against his ribs, and he still can't breathe, but his hands are steady as he sets the book carefully to the side. The hunters consider his question, looking between each other like any one of them has a prepared list of things to ask.

It's a good distraction.

Dream's legs are under him in a split second, shifting from harmless to tense, and the hunters are trained to notice things like that and they _do_. But they don't notice it fast enough. Not giving them a chance to stop him, he lunges for George, using the wall to shove off of. George screeches is surprise as they both go down hard, and Dream winces as the skin of his hands slides against the hunter's bare arm-

He's pulled back by the hood of his poncho and the pressure of it against his throat makes his cough harshly, his fingers only nudging uselessly at George's bandaged arm, because Dream had forgotten about the hunter being injured how had he forgotten something like that-

He doesn't look at Bad when he's maneuvered away from the hunter sprawled out on the ground, he doesn't look at any of them.

“What do we want to know?" Sapnap mimicks Dream's earlier words sharply, eyes boring into him, "fucking _anything_ would be nice-” the hunter snaps at him as Bad helps George back to his feet

“Then ask anything.”

"Why the fuck did you just try to put yourself in one of those things that kills you?"

"In case this goes wrong," Dream says shakily, backing up and almost collapsing back in the spot that he'd had before he decided to grab George.

“Dream," and it's softer now, as the confusion drains from it and Sapnap's eyes consider him like he's impure glass, like he'll break at any second, "What happened to you?”

It's rhetorical, but Dream still searches for an answer, wedding rings and drinks and heat and gold and screaming and books and Clay and the mask and pain and fear and the past and present and future, they all flash in his mind like a lantern signal given from a watch tower, pushing at each other and vying for his attention, for him so say one of them first.

“Be more specific,” he croaks after a few log seconds, resisting the urge to shove all of the memories down. The hunters want to know? He'll tell them. Dream will tell them everything, everything he's ever done, and maybe then they'll either kill him or leave him alone.

"We can't be _specific_ , Dream, we don't know where to _start_ ," George says, not looking at him as he dusts himself off.

"Neither do I," he admits into the open air, which was never open before Dream had felt like he was ripped open by it.

But he does, he does know where to start, and the words spill from his mouth unevenly and they never grow stronger or more sure.

"I did something bad, really really bad, and this was the punishment-"

"-wait, Dream-"

"-and I've done things that you wouldn't even _believe_ , I've killed more people than who's ever existed on this earth, killed them in futures and pasts and presents. I've become something less than human so many times that I don't think I have a face anymore-"

His fingers claw at his skin, worming under the mask on his face to reach it, but the hunters seem frozen in place and they don't stop him for once. It hurts, but he feels real when the pain stings even brighter as he rakes his nails across the same spots.

"I've stood by and watched people be tortured and cut open and _poisoned_ just like I was, I- I've held them down during it-"

His breath shudders in his lungs like it's a rabbit caught in a thorny bush.

"I've spent nights reading and days staring out of a fake window, wanting to shatter it under my hands because it was too pretty to exist near me and it taunted me with what i couldn't have, i wanted to break it because I'm childish and jealous and-"

"-breathe-"

"-and, and I read everything I could get my hands on but that's not what taught me what human is," he stares Bad down as his lungs rattle uneasily in his chest, "human was never the color of your skin or the sharpness of your teeth, it couldn't be," and his own tan hands claw at his tan skin, his dull teeth clenched together so hard that it sends pain up through his jaw, "because I'm not human and I haven't been for a long time-"

He laughs, a broken up thing that hurts his own ears.

"I don't even have a _name_ anymore-"

"Dream-"

His hands stop scratching against his skin to slam over his ears hard enough to make him flinch. It feels like his brain is rattling in his skull like beads in a rattle, and he just needs it all to stop for a few seconds.

"T-that's not my name but it is and this just isn't my body I think I stole it-"

Something soft quickly grabs his hands and moves them from where they had begun to claw at his face again. His salty tears sting as they hit the shallow gouges, but Dream doesn't know how to stop them from falling right now. A hand smoothly inserts itself in his hair and gently pulls his face down to someone's shoulder, his mask clattering off of his face and to the floor. His mind screams, unhelpfully, that if the action had been much, _much_ faster it might have broken his nose.

He shakes there, eyes wide open as he watches the tears that stuck to his eyelashes drip and stain the fabric darker.

The hunters talk around him, voices soft yet hard as they probably discuss what to do with him now that they know what a monster he is.

"-sounds like a cult-"

"-fuckin' cult, Bad!"

"Language-"

"Dream," someone says softly, and the shoulder that he's hiding in slowly moves away from him. He wants to protest like a child missing its blanket, but he manages to choke the words down before they come up his throat.

"Can we ask you a question now?"

His mind whirls, because hadn't he already answered all of the questions? He _thought_ he had, but there's no way he hadn't missed something now that he thinks about it-

Dream nods stiffly as he prepares an answer for a question not yet asked, and Bad smiles at him.

"Thank you," he says, still holding Dream's hands. Bad's gloves are still dirty from the nether, but Dream doesn't mind because the touch is grounding and pain-free.

The breath that the hunter takes is deep as he seems to consider the question heavily. Dream can't help but feel a little guilty about missing something, probably something obvious and important and-

"Dream," Bad says finally, peering at him earnestly, "are you okay?"

His body twitches, hands jerking in Bad's hold as the question seems to ring in the small room, hitting his ears over and over and over again until his head is ringing like a village bell.

"It's okay to not be, okay?" A hand slowly moves to settle between his shoulder blades, and someone leans against his side with too much care to for him to feel any extreme fear at the pressure.

“The others, what-” he coughs, forcing the world from his throat as he tries to hide from their only true question “-what were they like?”

“They- they never talked,” George says slowly, like he’s thinking hard on his response, like he hadn't really cared enough to remember at the time and now he's digging for anything at all.

“They never talked, but they screamed a lot, and it sounded like a wild animal. They would spit out blood, and claw at their faces, and they always attacked us.”

And Dream remembers the shuddering fear of the mask being stuck, when he first got it; he remembers desperately trying to pry it off, feeling his skin tear and blood well up and stopping out of fear.

It was enough to make someone go insane, sure, but not that fast.

The only thing that he can think of-

(He’s weak, and blood is still dribbling from his nose as he stands with the help of a person on either side of him. He’s distinctly other- inhumane, and he can feel it crawling under his skin and into his bones as it tries to settle itself in a body not meant for it.

‘A gift’, they’d said as they forced it under his skin, as his blood hit the table and the floor, as he’d thrashed against his binds, as things that had never happened flashed through his mind repeatedly, most of them violent and bloody and he can’t make sense of them-

He'd screamed then, but he is silent as they guide him through the doorway.

The person being dragged through the doorway across from him is not.

They are screaming like they’re being burned alive, pulled apart, and thrashing in the grip of at least four people.

Beside him, the lady sighs.

“Not all of them are strong enough, I’m afraid,” she hums, watching as they force the person to the carpet to subdue them.

Someone pulls out a mask, a white circular thing with a crude face carved into it, and it shimmers with enchantments so strongly that Dream can see it through his blurry vision, can taste it in the air. It’s pressed onto the person’s face like a blessing before they’re pulled up and dragged away, still screaming and thrashing-)

He’d always wondered where those who failed went, what happened to them. As Dream glances around, chest tight, he knows now. His mask, chipped and cracked and filthy, stares up at him from the floor, smiling eerily.

He almost wishes he didn’t know.

But, as he watches the hunters watch him, still armed to the teeth because it’s part of their job to be, there’s no denying it.

The mask feels like a target on his back, the target that it always has been, and Dream’s fingers brush against the edge of it to move it just a little further away. He wants to crush it under his feet, wants to _burn_ it, but it’s his; It’s one of the only things he can claim to be his.

“Dream? Did- did we kill people?”

Bad sounds so lost, so quiet, and Dream’s mind flashes back to the person as he says, just as softly:

“No, you didn’t.”

Bad's hands curl around his, and Sapnap leans into his side, and George's hand presses gently into his back, and Dream doesn't feel the need to curl into himself so much now that they know. They don't know it all, they wouldn't touch him like he meant something if they did, but Dream can't bring himself to ruin this.

His eyes catch writing fading onto the pages of the book before he shuts them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad about not updating guys, you wouldn't believe it-

**Author's Note:**

> I did my best with this, but I've never written the characters before! Any suggestions are appreciated! If I missed a tag or something, please tell me and I'll do my best to fix it! Feel free to give me ideas for the next chapter too! I'm not sure if this is going to get Kudos or not, so I'm not going to set a quota to meet for an update, but I will try to post regularly! If you even wanna chat my tumblr is xxnumanumxx! I love all of the comments I get, and I'll try my best to reply to all of them! <3
> 
> Also,,, Join my discord!!! https://discord.gg/yQXnGPf

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the Short End of the Stick is the Sharpest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067060) by [kibblesnbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibblesnbits/pseuds/kibblesnbits), [perfectlymatchedpairofpests](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlymatchedpairofpests/pseuds/perfectlymatchedpairofpests)
  * [remember me (when i'm gone)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331525) by [Alice_not_in_Wonderland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alice_not_in_Wonderland/pseuds/Alice_not_in_Wonderland)
  * [Up Against The Wall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628792) by Anonymous 




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